


Fable: The Count

by Mhex_ASC



Category: Fable (Video Games), Fable 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bandit Woods, Bower Lake, Bower Lake Carnival, Bower Lake Road, Bowerstone Marketplace, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/M, Fable 2 Prequel, Fantasy, Prequel, Some Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhex_ASC/pseuds/Mhex_ASC
Summary: Ninety years before Lord Lucien Fairfax descended into madness, and the Hero of Bower Lake rose in opposition to his plans to reconstruct the Tattered Spire, the city of Bowerstone found itself in the iron grip of a ruthless tyrant known only as “The Count”. After the famed inventor and alchemist Leo Head disappeared, Lionhead Castle came into the Count’s possession, and during his reign the city was plunged into some of the darkest days in its history. This is the tale of how the Count's dreaded  reign of terror came to an end. It is the story of a young nobleman on a quest to save the woman he loves, a wandering adventurer seeking absolution, and a brilliant alchemist joining forces to rid Albion of one of its greatest villains.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright Microsoft Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Microsoft, Fable, Lionhead, the Lionhead logo, Xbox, and the Xbox logo are trademarks of the Microsoft group of companies. “Fable” is a registered trademark or trademark of Microsoft Corporation in the United States and/or other countries. This work of fiction is a non-profit fan release and is not authorized or licensed by the Microsoft Corporation or Microsoft group of companies. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

 

**Lionhead Castle, later known as Fairfax Castle**

 

 

> _“Though it came to be known by its present name some ninety years ago, when it was bought by the noble and illustrious Fairfax family, the castle was built more than fifty years previous than that. And, if this book is to be believed, it has a long tradition of strange and unexplained events. It was commissioned by the reclusive alchemist Leo Head after his potion of youth made him a fortune. Leo swore never to make the potion again and retired to the grand halls of the castle. It was rumored that he was working on a new, even more fantastic potion, but Leo was never seen in public again. When the authorities entered the castle seeking an annual tithe, they found only the corpse of an unidentified old woman._
> 
> _After the strange disappearance of the alchemist Leo Head, the next owner of the castle was a ruthless man known only as the Count. These were fretful years for Bowerstone. People went missing never to be found again, and there was talk of torture and unholy rituals being conducted in the castle.”_

Excerpts from, _“The Secret of Castle Fairfax, Parts I & II”_

 

* * *

 

It was a truly gloomy night over the city of Bowerstone. Dark storm clouds had begun to accumulate over Albion’s largest city until the stars could no longer be seen. Even the pure white light of the moon was obscured. No one was outdoors that didn’t need to be. Not even the stray dogs and tomcats that prowled the alleyways of Old Town could be found. A feeling of dread had come to grip the city.

Deep in the darkest depths beneath Lionhead Castle, a similar feeling of dread and misery enveloped Alphonse. He could not see the storm building outside, nor the darkness that shrouded the city. If he could, he likely would have observed how the darkness over Bowerstone was so much like the darkness that had come to characterize his every waking moment.

One year had passed since Alphonse last saw the world beyond the walls of his dungeon cell. He had been a prisoner for so long that he had stopped counting the days. Here the concepts of day, night, and time held no meaning. The cell was small, cold, cramped, and dank. The entire dungeon reeked with the smells of hard-packed earth, moss, and a sickeningly pervasive combination of sweat, unwashed body, urine, feces, and the decay of death. The meager amount of light down here came from the torches that were ensconced on the walls outside of each cell.

Although he was the lone occupant of his cell, Alphonse knew that he wasn’t the only one languishing in the darkness. At times he could hear the coughs, sobs, and mournful groans of the other prisoners. He didn’t know who they were, but he had seen them being dragged into the dungeon, and then watched as they were unceremoniously shoved or tossed into their cells. At one point Alphonse had glimpsed a pair of young women that were obviously harlots, a middle-aged nobleman dressed in finery, several traders with their characteristic long twirled mustaches, a monk dressed in dark robes, and an alchemist.

 _Of course, another alchemist._  Alphonse thought bitterly to himself.

He couldn’t be certain why the others had been imprisoned, but he supposed that the nobleman was one of the Count’s political opponents, and the traders had likely attempted to cheat the Count by pilfering Old Kingdom artifacts that had turned out to be counterfeit. The monk in the dark robes, on the other hand, was something of a mystery. Alphonse had no idea why the Count would imprison him, but he was certain that whatever the reason may be it didn’t bode well for the prisoner. Alphonse pitied the two harlots because he knew what grisly fates awaited them. There was little doubt in his mind as to why the alchemist had been imprisoned. He was here for the same reason that Alphonse was: The Count and his obsession with immortality.

 

* * *

 

Decades earlier Leo Head had discovered the long-lost formula for the special potions that the Archons of the Old Kingdom had used to extend their lifespans from mere decades to centuries. The potion of youth had not only made Leo famous, but it had also made him fabulously wealthy. The people of Bowerstone had rejoiced when the renowned alchemist took up residence in their city. Within a few years, however, Leo realized that even his snug and well-appointed home of Miracle Manor was insufficient for his needs. Thus he announced his plans to commission a grand castle that would be built upon the high hill that overlooked the city.

The new castle would not only serve as Leo Head’s personal residence but also as the new headquarters for Lionhead Alchemy Incorporated. Lionhead Castle as it came to be known, would house the most modern alchemical laboratory for Leo’s experiments, a vast library to store all the knowledge and research he accumulated over his long career, a grand hall from which he could demonstrate his latest discoveries to the public regardless of the season, and a great tower from which the reclusive alchemist could continue to brainstorm new projects in quiet solitude.

Thanks to his enormous wealth and his status as a national celebrity, construction of Lionhead Castle was completed within only a few short years. Time passed and Lionhead Alchemy Incorporated continued to astound the public with their latest discoveries and creations, until one fateful day when Leo announced that henceforth he would cease production of the potion of youth. He retired to the grand halls of Lionhead Castle and was never seen in public again.

After Leo Head’s mysterious disappearance, the castle came into the possession of a wealthy nobleman that was known only as the Count. Aside from the fact that he was a fabulously wealthy, handsome, charming, and politically astute young man with the finest of tastes, very little was known about him. Who was he? Where did he come from? How had he acquired his great wealth? Questions of this sort dominated the gossip-mongers among Bowerstone’s nobility for months. Rumors of the Count’s activities and exploits soon followed, and it wasn’t long before he had become the rage of Bowerstone.

Alphonse remembered the day he was brought to Lionhead Castle.

He had been employed by a small apothecary in the city's Old Town district called “Right as Rain”, when one day a pair of burly-looking men came into the shop looking for him. At first Alphonse assumed they were town guards coming to collect the annual tithe, but as he stepped out of the shop’s back room he was surprised to find that the men weren’t town guards at all. They were dressed in black uniforms that were similar to the ones worn by town guards, but they also wore purple half cloaks that were richly embroidered with cloth of gold, and the sigil of a spiraling black dragon with a golden crown. Alphonse recognized them as a pair of the Count’s private guards. After confirming who he was, the bodyguards informed him that they had been sent by the Count to bring him back to their master.

Alphonse could still recall the awe and wonder he felt as he ascended the stairs to the massive double doors at the castle’s entrance. The guard to his right stepped forward and knocked on the door three times. Within moments the doors parted open, revealing a pair of menservants dressed in exquisite finery, and a butler that towered over them all.

Alphonse felt a shiver run down his spine as he gazed up into the butler’s eyes. Standing no less than seven feet tall, the butler was a thin, cadaverous man with sweptback white hair, a long, clean-shaven face lined with age, hollow cheeks, a broad chin, thin lips which were compressed into a frown, and a pair of the hardest and cruelest eyes that Alphonse had ever seen.

The butler’s eyes made him nervous. He wilted under the butler’s gaze, lowering his head between his shoulders in a manner reminiscent of a turtle hiding inside its shell.

“Greetings, Master Alphonse,” The butler greeted him with a courtly bow. “And welcome to Lionhead Castle.”

Alphonse blinked.

“You know my name?” he asked.

“Of course,” the butler answered. “Among my many duties to his Lordship, I am responsible for ensuring that all guests are suitably received.”

“Oh.” Alphonse acknowledged. “So what do I call you?”

“You may call me Talbot, young master.”

“Nice to meet you, Talbot,” Alphonse said as he removed his hat and stretched out his hand in greeting. Talbot eyed the outstretched hand before him but made no attempt to grasp it.

“If you would follow me please.”

From there Alphonse was quickly ushered inside. A manservant took his coat and hat, and Talbot and the two guards escorted him around the ring-shaped courtyard towards another pair of double doors. Another pair of menservants opened them as they approached. They stepped through and into the castle’s grand hall.

Alphonse sucked in his breath and marveled at the vast expanse of the grand hall as he was led towards a spiraling staircase in the castle’s southern wing. Servants bustled all around him, hurrying to complete the preparations for the evening’s festivities. The Count would be hosting a ball for the city’s wealthiest and most influential citizens. It was a custom he had instituted shortly after his acquisition of Lionhead Castle.

Great purple and gold banners gently fluttered from the ceiling and draped the columns of the long enclosed bridge connecting to the castle's tower. Glancing to his left and right, Alphonse saw that the uniforms of the guards lining the corridor were slightly different from the ones worn by the guards that had been sent to fetch him. In addition to the standard all-black tunic and trousers, they also sported black enameled steel cuirasses, gauntlets, greaves, purple half capes embroidered with cloth of gold, and dark masks that covered everything but the eyes.

The masks reminded Alphonse of public executioners, but it was their eyes that truly unsettled him. Their eyes were so cold and pale that it seemed as if all the life and color had been drained away from them. They stood rigidly at attention in a posture that was painful to see, silently watching Alphonse with unblinking eyes as he was led down the corridor.

As the group reached the double doors to the tower’s study, Alphonse felt an icy chill come over him.

“When you stand in his Lordship’s presence you must show due deference at all times,” Talbot instructed him in a firm tone, “You must kneel before his Lordship, and you will rise only after you have been permitted to do so. You will address him as ‘My Lord’, and speak only when spoken to. His Lordship’s time is very precious, so when he asks you a question you must answer it immediately, directly, and honestly, with no dawdling or rambling of any kind.”

“Yes, sir,” Alphonse said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Talbot eyed him for a moment, then straightened his posture, turned smartly on his heel, and nodded to the guards. The guards acknowledged him with a nod and opened the doors. Talbot stepped inside first, took up a position off to the side, and announced Alphonse’s arrival.

“My Lord; the alchemist has arrived.”

Alphonse was quickly ushered inside. Taking a quick glance around the room, the young alchemist was impressed with the study’s furnishings. The circular room was flanked by two floors of tall bookshelves that were filled to the brim with numerous volumes of books, publications, and old tomes. To his left were three ornate tables that were covered with charts, papers, scrolls, books, feather quills, inkwells, glass flasks, and a complex array of magnification apparatuses. Glancing to his right, he saw there was another, much larger table that was similarly furnished. And standing behind that table were three young servant girls.

Alphonse did a double take as his brain caught up to just how lovely the servant girls were. Each was petite and slim-figured, and they all had shimmering blonde hair, large round eyes that were the most brilliant shade of blue Alphonse had ever seen, soft rosy cheeks, and luscious ruby red lips. The first servant girl had her hair pulled back into a large bun; the second into a long ponytail that extended to her small waist; and the third swept her long hair behind her left ear.

There was something odd about these women. He wasn’t sure what it was, but Alphonse couldn’t shake the feeling that, whatever it was, he was overlooking some crucial detail that should have been obvious. Alphonse felt heat rise to his cheeks as he suddenly realized that he was staring. He blinked once and gave the young ladies a quick bob of the head and grinned nervously. The servant girls, in turn, smiled softly and curtsied in unison.

Suddenly he got it.

 _They’re all identical!_  Alphonse realized with a start.  _Identical triplets!_

The wonders kept coming as Alphonse tore his gaze towards the massive stained glass window that took up a quarter of the study. A sense of awe and dread came over him as he gazed upon the image of a dark hooded figure rising from the flames beneath the light of a single star in the night sky, clutching a shimmering golden crown surrounded by mystic runes in his hands raised high above him. The figure sported a pair of dark raven-like wings, and the hood on the figure’s head cast dark shadows that completely concealed the features of his face.

It was a most unnerving sight.

Standing before the stained glass window on a raised platform engraved with a strange double crescent symbol with four spikes was the Count. He was a tall man―though not as tall as Talbot―and very handsome with an angular face, high cheekbones, a thin aristocratic nose, ivory skin, and dark eyes. His long, silky black hair was fashioned into a stylish ponytail. A small, thin black mustache graced his upper lip, and his chin sported a small goatee that had been carefully fashioned into a sharp point.

Although he was dressed in black from head to foot―with the sole exception of his purple overcoat that was ornately embroidered in cloth of gold―the style and cut of his clothes were the pinnacle of upper-class fashion. In his hand was an ebony cane banded in gold and adorned with an ornate sculpture of a roaring dragon’s head carved from a single piece of ivory. The Count also wore a medallion on a silver chain that was fitted with a single large blood-red gemstone that was roughly the size of a fist.

Talbot cleared his throat loudly. Alphonse quickly remembered the butler’s instructions and went down to one knee before the Count. “My Lord.”

A long moment passed, but at last, the Count spoke.

“You may rise.”

Alphonse did so.

“So,” the Count said, taking a step towards his guest and appraising him with a critical eye. “You are the alchemist?”

“Yes,” Alphonse said, but then remembering Talbot’s instructions hastily added, “Yes, my Lord. I’m an alchemist.”

He put out his hand and gave the Count a friendly, if slightly nervous grin. “My name is Alphonse. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Count stared openly at the offered hand, genuinely surprised by the sincere earnestness of his guest. Talbot’s eyes flared with disapproval at the grievous breach of etiquette and protocol. The bodyguards placed their hands on the hilts of their swords and took a long step forward. The triplets gasped in disbelief.

“Master Alphonse,” Talbot began harshly, “It is not…”

The Count cut him off with an upraised hand.

“It is all right, Talbot,” The Count chuckled. “We need not stand on decorum. Master Alphonse is our guest after all.”

Talbot bowed his head in acquiescence, the guards relaxed, and the triplets sighed in relief. The Count gave his guest a cheerful grin and grasped the offered hand with a grip of steel. Alphonse winced at the Count’s prodigious strength and the fact that his hand was as cold as ice.

“Thank you for coming, Master Alphonse,” he said as he tightened his grip on the alchemist’s hand. “And welcome to Lionhead Castle.”

“It…” Alphonse grunted as he tried unsuccessfully to ignore the pain in his hand. “It’s… a great… pleasure to…”

The Count’s eyes bored into Alphonse’s. To Alphonse, it seemed as if everything in the room was being sucked into the Count's eyes, which now seemed to glow red. He wanted to look away; but he was spellbound, unable to move, unable to turn away from the Count’s gaze. He felt completely naked and exposed as if the Count was looking right into his very soul. Sweat peppered his forehead, his heart thudded loudly in his ears, and his teeth began to chatter.

Then quite suddenly, the Count released his grip. Alphonse took a shuddering breath, rubbed at his throbbing hand, and clenched his teeth hard to stop the chattering. He looked up into the Count’s eyes, fully expecting them to still be glowing with that strange malevolent red color. They were not. Had the Count’s red eyes just been his imagination?

“…to be here, my Lord.” He finally managed. “So, what can I do for you?”

“I am in need of your services,” the Count said, waving a hand elegantly toward the tables to his right. “Tell me, what do you make of these?”

Shaking the last bits of pain and discomfort from his hand, Alphonse turned to his left and quickly examined the books and papers that were scattered across the surface of each table. Most of the books pertained to scientific studies of the human body, treatises on the average lifespan of man, textbooks on alchemy that Alphonse was already familiar with, and a series of handwritten notes that Alphonse immediately recognized as alchemical formulas. Curiously, there was a book entitled “Living Forever: The Immortalists” lying off to the side that had at least a dozen bookmarks inside.

 _Light reading._  Alphonse observed.

“It looks like you’ve been studying alchemy, my Lord,” Alphonse said as he returned his focus to the papers.

“Indeed,” the Count replied coolly. “And what do you make of this formula?”

Alphonse leaned over the table and carefully examined both the formula and the accompanying notes. “It looks like a variation of a healing potion,” he said frowning, “Except that the formula is wrong.”

The Count cocked an eyebrow. “Wrong you say? How so?”

Moving aside to afford a better view for the Count, Alphonse proceeded to point out the errors in the formula. He explained that, if the formula was followed as it was written, the resulting potion would disrupt the balance of bodily humors and cause a fatal upsurge of both black and yellow bile, burning the consumer from the inside out. Furthermore, he identified how the errors had been made in the first place, and how the formula could be corrected so that it would produce a true healing potion.

The Count listened attentively as Alphonse explained the details behind the science. When he was finished, the Count turned to the triplets and nodded. They acknowledged their master with a curtsey and quickly filed out of the room with two pairs of guards in tow.

“Impressive, Master Alphonse,” the Count said approvingly, as he caressed his pointed goatee. “Quite impressive indeed. You clearly are a master of your craft.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” Alphonse beamed at the compliment.

The Count turned his back to the young alchemist and strolled towards the magnificent stained glass window.

“As it so happens, Master Alphonse, I am in need of an alchemist to aid me with a special project.”

He stopped as he reached the center of the raised platform, rested his hands upon his cane, and gazed for a long moment at the dark hooded figure holding the crown high above its head.

“Tell me, what do you know of Leo Head?”

Alphonse recounted everything he knew about the renowned and reclusive alchemist, beginning with his invention of the potion of youth, his subsequent rise to fame and fortune, his commissioning of Lionhead Castle, the founding of Lionhead Alchemy Incorporated, and finally his mysterious disappearance.

“He just disappeared … like a puff of smoke.” Alphonse concluded.

“Yes,” the Count said without looking back, “The wily recluse left behind not a single trace of any sort that would indicate either his whereabouts or his ultimate fate. Before he disappeared, Leo Head announced to the world that he would never produce another potion of youth for as long as he lived. He gave no reasons, no explanations, and no apologies. He simply announced his retirement, and then locked himself behind the doors of this very castle.”

The Count glanced at Alphonse from the corner of his eye. “It did not take long for rumors to begin spreading that Leo had not truly retired, but was instead on the verge of a groundbreaking new discovery. One that would put even the potion of youth to shame. Of course … no one ever saw or heard from him again. Later, when the town guards forced their way inside, all they ever found was some old woman that had died long ago. No trace of Leo was ever found. Not then, and not after I came into possession of this estate.”

The Count turned fully towards his guest. There was a slight smile on his face.

“He did; however, leave something else behind.”

The Count snapped his fingers, and Talbot produced a small book, which he handed to Alphonse. The cover was made of old brown leather and engraved with the head of a roaring maned lion. It was the corporate logo of Lionhead Alchemy Incorporated. Alphonse ran his fingers reverently over the logo, then carefully opened the book and began to read. The Count waited with anticipation and was rewarded by the sharp intake of breath from Alphonse. The young alchemist’s eyes widened until they were as big as boiled eggs. He jerked his head up suddenly and looked excitedly at the Count, then at Talbot, and back again at the Count.

“This is…it’s…IT’S…!”

“Yes,” the Count finished for him. “It is Leo Head’s private journal.”

“This is an incredible find!” Alphonse declared excitedly. But as he thumbed through the journal his forehead furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and a confused frown creased his face.

“But I don’t…” Alphonse trailed off as he glanced up and saw the Count’s knowing expression.

“You do not understand its contents?” The Count surmised. “To be frank, I do not understand it either. Which brings us to the crux of the problem. Leo Head said that he would never again produce another bottle of the potion of youth, then locked himself inside his castle and was never seen or heard from again. Tell me, my alchemical friend, what do you make of that? Why would the greatest alchemist since the Old Kingdom suddenly lock himself away?”

“I don’t know, my Lord,” Alphonse said.

There could be any number of reasons why Leo would choose to hide away from the world. It was widely known that, aside from being a genius, Leo Head was also an eccentric recluse. “I mean, I’m not Leo Head of course, but if I were him the only logical reason I can think of for locking myself inside a castle would be to make sure that no one would interfere with my work.”

The Count gave him an approving smile. “My thoughts exactly, Master Alphonse. Now I ask you, ‘What could possibly overshadow a potion that extends life and grants renewed youth and vigor?’”

The Count did not bother to wait for Alphonse’s answer, but took an impulsive step forward, raised one of his hands, and clenched it into a fist.

“ _Everlasting life!_ ”

Alphonse stood there in stunned disbelief. “Everlasting life?”

“Yes,” the Count purred. “It is my firm belief that Leo Head finally succeeded where others before him had failed. Somehow, he finally unlocked the secret that the Archon and his alchemists have long kept to themselves: The elixir of immortality! And that secret lies within the pages of the very journal in your hand.”

Alphonse looked at the journal with renewed reverence. _Was it truly possible? Had Leo Head unlocked the secret to immortality?_

His first thought was that it couldn’t be. He remembered being told the stories of the Archon ruling the Old Kingdom for centuries, the legends surrounding the alchemists of that time period, and how they had unlocked the secret of eternal life. But those were just old stories and legends. Fables that were told to put children to sleep at night.

His second thought, coming hard on the heels of the first, was to wonder if it may be true after all. He did not doubt the existence of the Old Kingdom, the Archon, or the powers they once wielded. There were scores, if not hundreds of ruins and monuments scattered across Albion that gave silent testimony to the power, majesty, and wonders of the Old Kingdom. Heroes had existed as recently as 400 years ago, and they had wielded powers and abilities that many today would consider impossible.

“The problem,” the Count said, breaking into Alphonse’s thoughts, “As you have no doubt ascertained, is that Leo wrote his journal in code. I have brought in numerous scholars, linguists, mathematicians, and intellectuals to decipher it. I even sent for a pair of wizards from Samarkand to use spells to unlock the secrets hidden inside that journal. But alas, none so far has succeeded.”

“And you wish for me to take a crack at it, my Lord?”

“Precisely,” the Count confirmed. “But I must confess, you are not the first alchemist I have summoned to aid me with this project.”

Alphonse blinked. “You’ve brought in other alchemists?” Alphonse immediately recognized the stupidity of the question. Of course, he would have brought other alchemists in on the project.

“Where are they? I haven’t seen any other alchemists in the castle, my Lord.”

At some unseen signal, the bodyguards in the corridor filed in and formed a protective screen around their master. Two in front, two in the back, and two more which took up flanking positions to either side of Alphonse.

“Follow me. I will show you.”

The Count led the party to the grand hall with Talbot taking up a position by the Count’s side. Alphonse and his escort followed closely behind. The party entered the immense five-storied library with its magnificent domed ceiling and great oak tree growing directly from the floor in the center of the room. The Count stopped in front of one of the bookshelves and waited patiently as one of the bodyguards reached up and pulled on one of the books. There was a muffled click, and the bookshelf swung inward to reveal a hidden passage with a staircase that led downwards into a dark passageway.

More dead-eyed guards flanked the passage's walls. Alphonse shivered as he descended the stairs to the castle’s lower levels. They entered what appeared to be a small storage area with several barrels that were so large that a fully grown man could stand inside them. They passed another corridor that led to a small dungeon of the kind often used by alchemists to house dangerous research specimens such as hobbes or balverines. Alphonse could smell the rank odor of unwashed bodies, sweat, and feces mixed together with the oppressively dank smell of moss and hard-packed earth. He tried peering down the passage and into the cells as he passed by, but the lighting was so poor that he could not be certain if there were any occupants present.

“This way, Master Alphonse,” Talbot called out as he indicated the gate at the end of the passage. The guards opened the gate, ushered the party inside, and closed the gate behind them. They passed through a short corridor, which led into a small barracks section and reached another gate.

The gate was opened, and the party entered a large circular antechamber. The walls were inscribed with runes that were similar to the ones Alphonse had seen in some of the books and papers in the Count’s study. The guards took up positions at regular intervals around the room’s perimeter. There was a physician waiting for them in a waxed leather suit that covered him from head to foot. He also wore dark leather gloves and boots, and a bone-white porcelain mask with an enormous beak-like snout and goggles.

“Welcome, my Lord.” The Doctor said in greeting. “If you would please.”

Except for the red gemstone medallion around his neck, the Count promptly stripped off his clothing until he was naked from the waist up and handed them to Talbot. The Doctor pulled out a small wooden rod and used it to delicately probe the Count’s upper torso.

Alphonse looked away in embarrassment at the sight and noticed for the first time that the triplets were here as well, standing behind the Count and the Doctor close to an ornately carved set of double doors with stained glass windows. A silly smile stretched across Alphonse’s blushing face, a smile that immediately melted away as he glanced down and saw the three men on their knees before the triplets. The first two men were Samarkandians dressed in the sleeveless linen tunics, mantles, and turbans that were customary for their country. Alphonse didn’t recognize them, but he certainly recognized the third man.

“ _Perkins?!_ ” Alphonse gasped. “Is that really you?”

Perkins was a middle-aged, slightly balding man with a thick waist, glasses, and a dark mustache that was streaked with gray. He was a noteworthy alchemist that enjoyed a lucrative practice that catered exclusively to Bowerstone’s wealthiest citizens.

“Ah,” the Count said, “I see that you are already acquainted with Master Perkins.”

“Well yes but… but…”

“ _But what?_ ” the Count demanded.

“My Lord… what… er, what are you doing to him?”

“As I stated earlier, Master Alphonse,” the Count explained, “You are not the first alchemist that I have sought to aid me with my special project. In fact, Master Perkins here is not the first either. He is just another link in a series of alchemists that I have employed at one time or another.”

The Count turned his baleful gaze upon the middle-aged alchemist kneeling before him. “Unfortunately, none as yet has succeeded.”

Perkins’ clothes were torn, ragged, and dirty. His forehead was peppered with sweat, his eyes were wide with terror, and his cries for mercy were stifled by the gag in his mouth.

“Master Perkins here is a special case. Not only has he failed to accomplish the task that I have set before him, but he also went so far as to try to assassinate me.”

Alphonse felt a drop of sweat trace a line down his back. “Assassinate you?”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Perkins was the last man that Alphonse would have ever thought capable of harming anyone, let alone attempting to assassinate someone as prestigious as the Count.

“Yes. The formula you deciphered in my study? That was Master Perkins’ handiwork. He assured me that he had finally cracked the code in Leo Head’s journal and obtained the formula for the elixir of immortality. Considering his  _many_  failures, as well as the complete lack of progress that I have suffered from this incompetent wretch over the past year, I suspected treachery on his part. I, therefore, took the necessary precautions to ensure that this traitor’s poison would have no effect on me. Nevertheless, a man of Master Perkins’ skills cannot be replaced so easily, and so I sent my bodyguards out into the city to find me a man with the skills necessary to serve as his replacement.”

The Count glared at Alphonse out of the corner of his eye.

“His  _permanent_  replacement.”

It was at that moment that the triplet behind Perkins dug her small delicate fingers into the alchemist’s left shoulder. The man tried to scream as her fingers pierced his skin with ease and bore deeply into the flesh near his collarbone, but all that came out was a muffled shriek. Dark blood gushed from the wound. The color drained from Perkins’ face, and a pool of foul-smelling yellow liquid began to spread across the floor around his knees.

Alphonse glanced up in horror into the young woman’s eyes, which had now gone from brilliant blue to completely black. She met Alphonse’s terrified gaze and languidly licked her lips like a wild animal consuming its prey. Alphonse looked at the other servant girls and found that they too now sported totally black eyes.

“ _What in the…?!_ ” Alphonse gasped.

Suddenly, the Doctor struck the servant girl across the face with the wooden rod. The girl whipped her face around and hissed. She clenched her jaw into a scowl, revealing rows of sharp needle-like teeth. Alphonse jerked away at the sight, but a pair of bodyguards grabbed his arms, pinned them behind his back, and held them firmly in place.

“Don’t you  _dare_  look at me that way!” the Doctor roared through his mask, which gave his voice a metallic reverberation.

The servant girl reluctantly complied with his orders. She closed her mouth, blinked once to return her eyes back to their brilliant blue color, and gingerly touched the side of her face where the Doctor had struck her. Her sisters likewise blinked once. Their eyes too returned to their normal blue color. Blood continued to ooze from Perkins’ wound, but at a much slower pace now that the girl had eased her grip. The alchemist’s face twisted with pain and misery. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and he began to sob softly to himself.

Satisfied by the servant girl’s compliance, the Doctor returned his attention to the Count. It was then that Alphonse noticed the smell. There was a sickeningly sweet mix of the Count’s heavy perfumes and the smell of rotten and decaying flesh. At first, Alphonse thought it came from the prisoners, or perhaps the dungeon, but then noticed the black and green patches across the Count’s chest and abdomen.

 _His body … it’s … it’s decaying!_  Alphonse realized with a start.

The Doctor cocked his head to the side as he examined one of the larger patches of decay on the Count’s side. A small portion of the rib cage could be seen beneath the rotted flesh. The Doctor shook his head from side to side and began tapping the wooden rod against his open hand.

“The corruption has returned, my Lord,” the Doctor’s metallic voice reverberated. “And much more quickly since your last examination.”

The Doctor turned towards the three prisoners and gazed down at them for a long moment.

“I recommend that you undergo treatment.”

“ _Another_  treatment?” the Count said with incredulity. “So soon?”

“I am afraid so. The corruption has not only returned but is spreading faster than I had predicted. If we don’t stave it off now..”

The Count cut him off with an upraised hand. “This is the _third_ time this month! You assured me that your ‘treatments’ would be completely effective against the corruption!”

“Yes my Lord, I did say that. And thus far the treatments have been effective in extending the life of your body but…”

“But your treatments,” the Count interrupted, “Are beginning to weaken.”

There was a long silence.

“It is true, is it not?”

“Yes.” The Doctor finally admitted. “Until we can find a cure for your …  _condition_ … we have no other choice. We’ve already exhausted all other options, my Lord.”

The Count turned and looked significantly at Alphonse. “Not  _all_  options, Doctor.  _Not yet._ ”

“Nevertheless, until the time comes when these  _other_  options bear fruit, I must insist that we proceed with the treatment, my Lord.”

The Count sighed in exasperation but flicked his elegant hand in a gesture of approval. “Very well, if you  _insist_. Proceed with the treatment.”

The Doctor bowed. “As you command, my Lord.”

The guards opened the stained glass doors, which led into a massive circular chamber that was brightly lit by large torches ensconced in the walls and a dozen candelabras that were as tall as a man. From what Alphonse could see, a half-dozen iron spiked X-shaped frameworks stood at the center of a raised platform in the chamber’s center. Massive chains connected the frameworks to the ceiling via a series of massive gears and pulleys. A series of tables similar to the ones that Alphonse had seen in the Count’s study could also be found inside, each sporting a vast array of alchemical apparatuses and equipment. Some of the glass flasks and canisters were filled with liquids of many different colors, but most were filled with vast quantities of blood.

The Doctor was the first to enter the chamber, followed by a pair of guards, the triplets, their prisoners, and finally another set of guards. The Doctor unfastened the leather restraints on the frameworks, allowing the guards to shove the three prisoners onto them. Perkins offered no resistance as he was strapped down. The Samarkandians tried to resist, but the guards were much stronger, so it didn’t take them long to subdue and strap them down. Satisfied that all was ready, the Count proceeded through the door, and without looking back signaled for the rest of the party to enter.

The guards forced Alphonse inside the chamber.

“Wait! Wh… wh… what are you going to do to them?” Alphonse stammered.

The Count stopped, turned, and stood face-to-face with the alchemist. The Count’s eyes were glowing red.

“Consider what you are about to witness as a learning experience. Not only will you be honored by the privilege of witnessing the true extent of the power and glory I wield, but it will also demonstrate the price you will pay if you should either fail me; or worse yet, attempt to betray me.”

A malevolent smile slowly spread across the Count’s handsome face, and the chamber was filled with the sounds of maniacal laughter as Talbot slammed the gates shut.

Moments later, Perkins and the other prisoners began to scream.

 

* * *

 

Alphonse woke with a start, gasping for air as the memory of Perkins’ screams startled him awake. He was covered with a fine sheen of cold sweat, and his entire body was trembling from the horror of what he had witnessed that fateful day. Sitting at the worn desk inside his cell, Alphonse rubbed at his eyes to drive away the fogginess of fatigue from his mind.

_I must have dozed off._

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and tried to calm himself.

 _It was just a dream._  He said, trying to console himself.  _It was just a bad dream._

The blood-curdling sounds of women screaming told him otherwise. Feeling the all-too-familiar sense of dread and despair pressing in on him, Alphonse turned to see the iron bars of his prison cell, and the dead-eyed stare of the masked bodyguard that had been assigned to keep an eye on him at all hours of day and night. He was still in the dungeon of Lionhead Castle.

Getting to his feet, Alphonse approached the door to his cell. Mindful of the guard watching him, he was careful not to stir the guard’s wrath by getting too close to his cell door, but still close enough for him to peer down the corridor and into the other cells. Just as he suspected, the cell that once housed the two harlots was empty. The cell containing the traders and the nobleman were also empty. All that remained were the other alchemists and the monk in the dark robes.

Alphonse’s shoulders slumped as he retreated into his cell. Having resigned himself to another sleepless night, he sat at his chair and resumed his work. Cradling his head in his palms, Alphonse leaned on his elbows and poured over the notes before him.

That was all that mattered now; the work. The work of decoding, deciphering, and completing the alchemical formula for the legendary elixir of immortality that the Count was convinced was locked away in Leo Head’s journal. The journal did indeed contain Leo Head’s research and even included the formula for his much sought after potion of youth (which Alphonse had used as a bargaining chip to buy more time from the increasingly impatient Count). But insofar as he was able to discern among the complex series of coded notes, diagrams, and alchemical formulas in the journal, there was little to no mention of anything even remotely hinting at an elixir of immortality.

But there was something else.

The Count had been right about one thing: Leo Head hadn’t locked himself away in his castle for no good reason. He had, indeed, been working on a new potion. He had been working on several in fact, but there was one in particular that caught Alphonse’s eye. If his suspicions were correct, this particular potion would put Leo’s potion of youth to shame, and would even eclipse the legendary elixir of immortality.

He was close to a breakthrough and he knew it. _So very close_.

What Alphonse needed was time, but time and the Count’s patience were two commodities he was beginning to run out of. If he could just hold out for a little while longer, he was sure that he would finally crack the code, and then he would finally be able to take back his freedom. Feeling a second wind come over him, Alphonse dived into the work. He was so immersed in the work that he was no longer disturbed by the screams coming from the corridor, and the chamber of horrors that lay beyond.


	2. Carnival

The day was bright and sunny, with only a few scattered clouds roaming lazily across the brilliant blue sky over Bower Lake. The sweet aroma of newly-sprouted grass and flowers drifted with the breeze coming from the lake. This brought a smile to the travelers crowding the roads leading to the Gypsy Camp at the southern end of the lake.

The gypsies of Bower Lake were hosting the carnival, a seven-day festival that celebrated the coming of the spring and the first days of planting in the fields. Caravans of gypsies, convoys of wandering traders, and troupes of entertainers gathered from every corner of Albion to ply their trades and hawk their wares to the travelers that flocked here every year. Fire-breathers, belly dancers, magicians, playwrights, musicians, gamemasters, stall operators, there was no shortage of entertainment for the party-goers. The fireworks show on the final day was one of the festival’s most anticipated highlights, and the evening promised to be just as glorious as the day, so the crowds had swelled to nearly double their usual size.

It was a perfect day for a carnival. Well, _almost_ perfect.

Standing at the eastern end of the bridge spanning the gorge west of the camp was a young woman with shoulder-length bronze hair, radiant green eyes, and a look of impatience. Her brow was furrowed, and a slight frown creased her lips as she gazed towards the lake.

 _Honestly! What’s taking him so long?_ The young woman thought as she impatiently drummed her fingers on her crossed arms.

From her vantage point, she could just make out the outlines of the three rocky spires of Hero Hill, whose craggy mound always made her feel cold. She shifted her feet and glanced back momentarily at the wooden bridge above and behind her, then returned her attention to the road that stretched beyond the horizon towards the city of Bowerstone. There was still no sign of her companion.

She sighed softly.

Even after a year, Lucy still had not succeeded in her quest to break Grant’s habitual tardiness. She began to wonder if there was ever a time when Grant wasn’t late for anything in his life. Based on her own experiences with him, she had a distinct feeling that was very unlikely.

 _He probably wasn’t even on time for the day he was born._ The thought brought a smile to her face. Lucy laughed softly to herself as she brushed a clump of hair behind her ear and gazed towards the lake, savoring the soft breeze and the pleasant aroma of spring.

 

 _Oh Blimey!_ Grant thought to himself as he hurried down the road. _I’m late. I’m late! I’M LATE!_

Grant Fairfax was the eldest son of the noble Lord Henry Fairfax, patriarch of the Fairfax family and one of Albion’s wealthiest, most renowned, and well-respected noble landowners and philanthropists. He was an able-bodied young man of 21 years of age and at the prime of his life. Although he wasn’t as tall as his father or his younger brother Donald, Grant was broad of face and shoulder, with skin that had been well-tanned by long hours spent working in the fields owned by his family, as well as touring their other holdings. His hair was brown, mid-length, and fashionably unkempt. His broad face had an open and honest quality to it with inquisitive brown eyes, soft cheek bones, a straight nose, cleft chin, and a wispy beard. Some would call him handsome, but Grant knew that the best looks in the world would be of no use to him if he kept Lucy waiting much longer.

“ _Bollocks!_ ” He swore to himself, as he broke into a full run.

_And today of all days! Lucy’s going to kill me!_

Today was a special occasion for Grant and Lucy, and they had agreed to meet each other at Bower Lake earlier that morning so they could celebrate it together. Grant would have preferred to escort her directly to the carnival, but he had been obliged to go to Southcliff on his father’s behalf. Secretly though, Grant had his own reasons for going there. Months earlier he had commissioned a local stonecutter and jeweler to craft a very special present for Lucy, one that he hoped would mark the occasion perfectly.

The preparations had taken up most of the morning: picking the right outfit to wear, making sure that his hair and beard were properly trimmed and groomed at the stylist, and picking up his special present for Lucy from the jeweler’s shop. Everything was set and ready to go when he spotted the sign hanging in the local bookshop window, “ _Big Sale! 50% Off All Stock! TODAY ONLY!_ ”

Grant Fairfax was the kind of man that some would politely describe as being of a “scholarly” disposition. Still there were others who would put it more bluntly, labeling him as “bookish to a fault”. More than anything else, Grant was renowned for his insatiable craving for knowledge. Particularly anything pertaining to the heroes of legend such as William Black, the Archons of the Old Kingdom, Thunder, Whisper, Briar Rose, and especially the Hero of Oakvale. Over the years he had, through a combination of patience, clever bargaining, and dogged persistence, procured a vast collection of books that was said to rival even the libraries that once graced the Guild of Heroes before it was destroyed. And so it was with great delight that Grant emerged from the bookstore two hours later with an excited smile on his face, half a dozen new books in hand including a rare and elusive edition of “ _The Book of Spells_ ”, and the sickening realization that he had missed the carriage to Bower Lake.

And now here he was, running down the road like a frightened villager fleeing from a horde of giant beetles, or a gang of bandits because of his obsession with books.

Grant was glancing down at his pocket watch when he suddenly looked up in time to see that he was heading directly towards a cloaked figure standing on the side of the road. He tried to stop himself, but he lost his footing and slid across the gravel road. He caught a glimpse of the man’s shaggy beard and dark eyes just before he bowled directly into him. There was a loud grunt of surprise and pain as Grant tumbled once onto the ground, rolled once, and then immediately shot back up onto his feet. He turned to face the man that he had just collided with and raised his hands in a gesture of apology.

“I’m terribly sorry! But I’m running late!”

He didn’t relish the idea of blundering into someone and then running off, especially when he was the guilty party, but his need to not keep Lucy waiting was even more urgent than his need to make amends. Without another word, Grant sprinted away.

“ _What the?!_ ” The cloaked figure said in disbelief before waving his fist angrily at Grant’s back, “ _Watch where you’re going you…_ ”

The rest of his words were engulfed by the growing distance between them. Grant sprinted down the hill with abandon, passing the small pond that marked the turnpike towards the northwestern edge of the lake, and crossed the bridge that spanned the gorge over the waterfalls that fed Bower Lake to the north.

Overcome with sweat, cramping legs and feet, and the aching in his shoulder from the collision, Grant Fairfax collapsed onto his knees. Placing a hand on the bridge’s stone bricks for support, he tried to steady his ragged breathing and rapid heartbeat. Just then, a familiar shadow was cast over him. Grant felt his blood run cold as he slowly raised his eyes and gazed into Lucy’s very lovely, and very cross face bearing down at him.

Grant swallowed hard and let out a nervous chuckle.

“Hello.” he greeted between ragged breaths.

Lucy stood there for a moment, letting the chilly silence hang over them before giving a nod of disapproval.

“You’re late.”

The words were spoken matter-of-factly, but the menace behind them was unmistakable. It sent a shiver down Grant’s spine and brought a fresh flush of heat to his cheeks. Even when she was angry, Lucy was still the most beautiful woman Grant had ever known.

“I’m sorry.” He said feebly.

Lucy heaved her shoulders and sighed in resignation. “What am I going to do with you?”

She offered Grant a hand.

“C’mon now,” she encouraged, “Up with you. I can’t have you wallowing in the dirt all day.”

Grant accepted the offered hand and stood up.

“Blimey,” Grant groaned as he brushed the dirt off his knees, “Look at this. I’m a mess.”

“Yes you are,” Lucy agreed as she brushed the dirt and dust from his coat and straightened his collar, “But it’s a look that suits you, _farm boy_.”

“Oh _ha, ha, ha_ ,” Grant said with what little indignation he could muster. That got a bemused smile and a wry chuckle out of Lucy.

Grant used the moment to drink in the lovely sight that was before him. Lucy’s shoulder-length bronze hair was swaying gently in the breeze, and her sharp, lively green eyes were rendered even more vibrant by a light touch of blue eyeshadow. She was as tall as Grant, and her elvish face was framed by soft cheek bones, a perky nose, a sharp chin, and thin lips that were adorned with purple lipstick. The grin that stretched across her beautiful face revealed rows of gleaming white teeth that shined as brightly as the sun.

Whereas Grant was dressed as one of the bourgeoisie with his elegant gray-colored cuffed overcoat, vintage vest/shirt combination, chequered trousers, and buckled loafers; Lucy was dressed more casually with a low-cut long-sleeved white bodice top of the kind that was popular among the lasses of Bowerstone’s Old Town district, java-colored riding trousers with laces running up the sides of each leg, and black-colored buckled riding boots with low heels.

Lucy’s attire was decidedly more appropriate for a day of riding than for a date, but Grant didn’t mind. As unorthodox as her choice of outfit may have been, he appreciated the fact that it was snug in all the right places. It complemented her long and slender legs, slim waist, and the wonderfully enticing curves of her well-endowed figure.

“Still,” Lucy said, putting her hands on her hips, “You’re not off the hook for being late.”

Before Grant could react, Lucy grabbed hold of him by the wrist and pulled him towards the hill leading up towards the Gypsy Camp.

“Lucy!” Granted yelped in surprise. “Wait just a moment.”

“I’ve waited long enough.” She said, turning to glance at Grant over her shoulder. “We’re going to make up for lost time.”

“All right. Lead the way!”

Grant grinned lopsidedly as a feeling of déjà vu came over him. Even after a year, he could still remember the day he met Lucy like it was yesterday.

 

* * *

  

_One Year Earlier_

Grant sighed with relief as he strolled down the main street of Southcliff’s market square towards the carriage house. At long last, he finally settled all his father’s business affairs. It had taken over a week to collect the rents and loan payments due, to resolve the mostly minor disputes with the tenants occupying the various real estate holdings and rural farmlands owned by his family, and to pay the required annual tithe to the Southcliff municipal government.

Grant loved being back in Southcliff, and the opportunity to enjoy the fresh country air and the peace and quiet of rural life, even if it was only for a short time. Regardless of how much he enjoyed Southcliff there was business to be done, and he knew his father and brother would expect him to settle matters and return to Bowerstone as quickly as possible. Not surprisingly, this left Grant very little time for more leisurely activities.

He reached the carriage house and asked the clerk when the next carriage to Bowerstone was expected to depart. The clerk answered that, most regrettably, the carriage was running late due to maintenance issues and wouldn’t be departing until the late afternoon. Grant thanked the man and took a seat at one of the nearby wooden benches. It was a warm and sunny day with only a few scattered clouds in the sky, so it would be the perfect time for Grant to sit down and enjoy reading one of his precious books. Perhaps he would immerse himself in one of Philipth Morley’s classics like _“The Tailor’s Tragedy”_ , _“The Near Tragedy of Oliver and Ethel”_ , or “ _The Repentant Alchemist_ ”. Or perhaps he would dive into the first volume of “ _The Creatures of Albion_ ”.

_Oh, the possibilities!_

Just as he was reaching into his satchel, a poster on the carriage house’s announcement board caught his eye. Stepping closer for a better look, Grant’s attention was seized by a scandalous rendition of a slender and rather scantily-clad gypsy girl dancing with a tambourine in her hand. Grant could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he tore his gaze away from the image and onto the poster’s headline, which read in a large and elegant script _, “CARNIVAL! Seven Days Only at Bower Lake!_

 _Oh … right! The Carnival!_ Grant mused as a slight smile creased his lips.

The gypsies were hosting their annual carnival at their camp near Bower Lake. Grant had certainly heard of the carnival before, of the seven days and seven nights celebrating the coming of the spring and the first days of planting in the fields. It was a celebration that was renowned throughout all of Albion, and Grant had never been to it before. His parents had judged the festival to be too vulgar and riotous for their tastes, and so they had never permitted their children to attend.

But Grant was an adult now, his mother had passed away years earlier, and his father’s declining health had long since confined him to bed. The thought of his father reminded Grant of what he would have to look forward to as soon as he returned to Bowerstone. He would have to resume his duties taking care of his father, which meant that nearly all of his waking hours would be spent attending to his every want and need, making sure that his father followed the physician’s proscribed treatments, and continuing to oversee the financial and business matters that his father could not. Although Grant certainly loved and respected his father, he did not cherish the idea of having to return to the tiresome routine of caring for an aged and sickly parent. Especially not one that was as prideful as Lord Henry Fairfax.

And with that thought in mind, Grant came to a decision. He had been working very hard lately on his father’s behalf, ensuring that all of his needs whether financial, medical, or personal were continually met, and it had been a very long while since he had had any time for himself. He decided that a little side trip to Bower Lake was just what he needed to counter the pall that had come to characterize his life as of late. His spirits were in need of lifting, and there was no better way to lift one’s spirits than to have a little bit of fun.

 _Yes._ Grant reasoned to himself. _A little bit of fun is exactly what the doctor ordered._

Besides, Grant was curious to see what the carnival was like for himself. So instead of waiting for the delayed carriage to Bowerstone, Grant decided to take the next carriage leaving for Bower Lake. Ten minutes later, he sat back in his seat and settled himself as comfortably as he could for the long and circuitous route towards Bower Lake.

 

Grant arrived at his destination a few hours later and was delighted to discover that the carnival was everything that he could have wished for and more. He thoroughly enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells of the carnival. He was overwhelmed by the many bright and colorful banners, merchant stalls, and decorated caravans. As the day wore on, Grant could feel the stress of the past week melting away as he perused the wide variety of wares being peddled, gawked at the spectacle of the gypsy women as they danced and bent their limber bodies in ways that should not have been physically possible, and laughed with delight as the storytellers regaled their audiences with dramatic portrayals of “ _The Tales of Perilous Spandex_ ”.

Most of the stalls had been set up on the hill leading up towards the camp, around the camp’s center, and up the eastern hill that looped around towards the gates at the camp’s entrance. Shops and entertainers vied for the attention of the many patrons that came to the annual festival, but it was the shooting gallery that stood out most of all to Grant. It had been set up near the waterfalls behind and to the west of the camp. The rules were simple enough: Contestants paid fifty gold pieces for the chance to prove their marksmanship and earn a prize. Each match consisted of three one-minute rounds in which the contestant earned points by shooting the pop-up cardboard targets. Each target hit was worth one point, but headshots were worth three points, and each contestant was required to earn at least fifteen points before they could advance to the next round.

There were a total of five prizes available for those that scored enough points. They included vouchers for free concessions, children’s toys, collectible dolls of famous heroes, and cash prizes. The grand prize was the champion’s pistol, a powerful flintlock pistol that was banded with gold, inscribed with Old Kingdom runes, and bejeweled with an ancient augment that was purported to increase the wielder’s luck. A true collector’s piece, if the vendor’s claims could be believed.

A small crowd had gathered around the attraction, and the vendor took to shouting insults at random members of the crowd saying, " _I bet your shooting's as bad as your body odor!_ " or " _You couldn’t hit a castle with a ball of dung!_ " This was of course little more than an attempt to goad the poor chaps into trying their luck at the shooting range.

Grant watched with some amusement as over half-a-dozen patrons gave in to the vendor’s vulgar insults and tried to salvage their wounded pride at the shooting range, only to fail miserably in the attempt. Not a single one was able to score enough points to win even the fifth prize. Some of the competitors walked away with slumped shoulders, others stamped their feet and declared that the shooting range was rigged, and one or two were so furious that they tried confronting the vendor over their losses. The latter forced the guards to intervene and drag the losers away kicking and screaming dire threats of retribution.

After straightening his collar and regaining his composure, the vendor glanced over the crowd in search of more hot-blooded and ill-tempered young men to goad into trying their luck at the shooting range. It was at that moment that Grant stepped forward from the crowd and handed the vendor fifty gold pieces.

“I’d like to have a go at it.” He said, rolling up his sleeves.

The vendor gave him an appraising look. “That’s the spirit! Although to be perfectly honest, judging from your glazed-over eyes I bet you cannot even shoot straight!”

Grant eyed the man with annoyance as he picked up the rifle and hefted it, checking its weight and balance. He knew perfectly well that the vendor was only trying to make him angry in the hopes of throwing off his concentration, but Grant was confident in his skills with a rifle. He had been on hunts with his father as a young boy many times before, so he knew how to handle a gun and should have no problem showing this insolent vendor how wrong he was.

Three rounds later, it was Grant who was proven wrong.

A small crowd had gathered around him to watch, and after three rounds it seemed as though everyone in the crowd, including the proprietor, were pointing and laughing at him. It was with a heavy heart that Grant laid the weapon onto the counter in defeat.

Nevertheless, Grant was able to shrug off the worst of the crowd’s jeering with the knowledge that he hadn’t completely embarrassed himself. He had placed a high score in the first round, and an even higher score in the second, but the final round had proven more difficult than he had anticipated. The targets popped up and disappeared with such speed that every time he squeezed the trigger, the target was already gone. Although Grant wasn’t able to obtain a score high enough to earn even the fifth place prize, he had at least scored higher than any of the previous contestants.

“Better luck next time.” The vendor said with a smirk on his face. “Anyone one else think they’re man enough to try their luck at the shooting range?”

“I will!” Said a voice from the crowd.

Everyone turned towards the sound and were surprised to see a young woman step forward. Her short mane of bronze hair was a tangled mess, and she was dressed in a ragged blouse, trousers, and shoes of the kind often worn by the lower classes that roamed the streets of Bowerstone’s poorer districts. The vendor gave her an appraising look from head to toe and suddenly burst out laughing. The whole crowd seemed to join the vendor’s laughter at the sheer audacity of this girl. The young woman, for her part, ignored the crowd and gazed unflinchingly at the vendor with her vibrant green eyes.

“Tell me, little girl,” the vendor finally managed after catching his breath. “Have you lost your marbles? Why don’t you run home to your knitting needles before you embarrass yourself?”

The young woman, Lucy, reached into her pocket and produced a small purse that was filled with gold, which she promptly slammed onto the counter. A hushed silence came over the crowd, and even the vendor had stopped laughing as they one-and-all realized that she was perfectly serious.

“Try me,” she said defiantly.

The vendor eyed her for a long moment before a slimy smile oozed across his face.

“Sure. Why not, Love?” he said, picking up the purse, “What’s the harm? After all, I’ll bet you don’t even know which end of a gun to hold…”

The vendor’s words were cut short as Lucy picked up the weapon, loaded it, aimed, fired, and scored her first bulls-eye. The mouths of everyone in the crowd dropped all at once as she scored another bulls-eye. Her movements were swift and precise. Not an ounce of energy was wasted as she expertly aimed, fired, reloaded, aimed, fired, and reloaded again and again. She hit the target with every shot. Most of her shots were bulls-eyes, and with every round fired she blasted her way past the high score.

Grant stood there next to her, his eyes as wide as saucers and his mouth agape like a fish out of water, utterly transfixed by the sight before him. Never before had he seen such skill with firearms. Time seemed to stand still, and Grant lost all sense of himself and his surroundings. The only thing that existed in the world for him was this young woman. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and felt the rush of blood coursing in his veins as he gazed into Lucy’s sharp and brilliant green eyes.

The first round came to an end. The crowd let out a collective gasp of astonishment. Lucy had scored over seventy points in the first round, setting a new record. Her vibrant green eyes came to rest on the vendor.

“Well…” she said as she reloaded the weapon and impatiently waited for the next round to begin, “What are you waiting for?”

The vendor crossed his arms and snarled, “For the fifty gold pieces you owe me, that’s what!”

Lucy gave him a confused look.

“What are you going on about? I already paid you fifty gold!”

“For the _first_ round,” the vendor countered, “Each round you have to pay fifty gold to compete.”

Lucy’s eyes briefly widened in surprise, then narrowed with a sudden flash of anger.

“Pull the other one! You let all the others play all three rounds for just fifty gold!”

A murmur of ascent arose from the crowd. The vendor ignored it.

“Rules are rules, little girl. If you want to play, you have to pay.” The vendor gestured with his free hand, and a pair of guards stepped forward.

Lucy shot the vendor such a look of hatred that it made him take a step back towards the guards. It was obvious to everyone that the vendor was changing the rules because Lucy actually stood a chance of winning, but there was little that anyone could do. It was his stand after all, and he was free to change the rules and conditions of the competition whenever and however he pleased, no matter how dishonest or unethical.

“So unless you have another fifty gold, I suggest you leave before this gets ugly.” The vendor growled.

Lucy’s gaze never flinched, but her shoulders sagged in defeat. As much as she wanted to continue and win the grand prize, she didn’t have the money. The slimy smile was slowly creeping across the vendor’s face again when Grant unexpectedly stepped forward and slammed a small, hefty pouch onto the counter which contained another fifty gold pieces. The vendor stared at him with incredulity.

“What the?!”

“Fifty gold pieces,” Grant said. “For the lady to continue.”

“Now you just wait one rotting minute,” the vendor said with a scowl, “I didn’t say…”

“What you _did_ say,” Grant cut him off, “Was that it was fifty gold pieces for every round.”

He stole a quick glance at Lucy before returning his attention to the vendor. “You never specified from _whom_ the gold had to come from.”

The vendor glared at him, but looking out of the corner of his eye, he saw the nods of agreement and heard the murmurs of approval coming from the crowd. He turned towards the guards, but they just shrugged. Recognizing how untenable his position was, the vendor begrudgingly accepted Grant’s gold.

Lucy was skeptical of Grant’s generosity. She was just about to open her mouth to object, saying that she didn’t need his money, but then she stopped herself. It had taken her a long time to save up enough gold to travel here, enter the carnival, and pay the fee to compete in the shooting range. She might never have this kind of opportunity again. And besides, her desire to win the grand prize was just too great. She closed her mouth, nodded her approval to her newfound sponsor, and returned her attention to the competition.

“I’m ready whenever you are.” She said.

The crowd lapsed back into stunned silence as Lucy put on an even more impressive performance than she had in the previous round. The vendor meanwhile crossed his arms and seethed, silently cursing every bulls-eye she hit. Even before the round was over, Grant reached into his pocket and set another fifty gold pieces onto the counter.

“For the next round.” He boasted confidently.

The vendor glared balefully at Grant but took the gold nonetheless. The second round came to an end, and Lucy broke another record with a score of eighty-one points.

“All right, little girl,” the vendor said acidly, “Final round. Let’s see if you can handle this.”

Lucy brushed a clump of hair behind her ear, raised the weapon, aimed, and fired. The bullet hit the bulls-eye dead-on in the exact center. She quickly reloaded the gun, aimed, and fired again. The vendor and Grant turned simultaneously and saw that the shot had gone cleanly through the target in the exact center.

 _Another bulls-eye! Incredible!_ Grant was left speechless. The vendor on the other hand, shifted on his feet, clenched his teeth, and growled softly at the young woman. The targets continued to pop up and disappear with increasing speed and frequency, but it made no difference to Lucy. She continued to hit target after target, shot after shot, and bulls-eye after bulls-eye with a poise and grace that was seldom seen in a sharpshooter. For his part, Grant couldn’t tear his eyes away from it all. He knew in the back of his mind that this girl’s performance made him and the other competitors look like nothing more than pathetic neophytes, but Grant didn’t care. The young woman, whomever she was, was a true crackshot.

_Only ten seconds remained!_

More targets popped up and fell as Lucy hit them. She quickly reloaded her weapon. Only three targets remained. Lucy took aim and squeezed the trigger. The first target fell, followed closely by the second.

_Five seconds left!_

Again she reloaded the weapon, but this time she turned away from the shooting range.

_Four seconds!_

Time seemed to slow as the young woman turned towards Grant.

_Three seconds!_

Grant’s heart skipped a beat, his mouth went dry, his knees felt weak, and his breathing stopped as he and Lucy locked gazes with one another. Without breaking eye contact, she rested the barrel of the rifle across her shoulder, aimed without looking, fired, and struck the final target.

“ _Bulls-eye_.” She said.

And with that final flourish, the round ended.

The crowd let out a collective gasp of astonishment. Everyone stood there completely awed by what they had just witnessed. Lucy had broken every record at the shooting range! The crowd erupted into a thunderous smattering of applause, high-pitched whistles, and shouts of congratulations. Lucy turned, gave the crowd an elegant curtsey, and raised the rifle high above her in victory. The crowd’s cheers continued to escalate, prompting the guards to intervene before the crowd could press in and smother her with congratulations.

The only one not celebrating was the vendor, who continued to seethe at the unexpected turn in his fortune. Lucy set the rifle back down on the counter, looked towards Grant, and gave him a quick wink in thanks.

“All right,” she said cheerfully to the vendor, “If you would be so kind.”

“Fine!” the vendor growled. “Here’s your prize.”

Lucy stretched out her hand, palm open, ready and eager to feel the grip of the champion’s pistol in her hand. What she got instead was a pair of vouchers for free concessions from one of the food vendors outside the main entrance to the camp. She and Grant stared at the prize in disbelief.

“What in the bloody hell is this?!” She demanded, holding the vouchers up for the vendor to see.

“It’s your prize.”

“No it isn’t!” she shot back. “You saw my score, I earned more than enough points for the grand prize!”

The vendor’s face hardened as he crossed his arms and glared at her. “No, you earned enough points to earn the _fifth_ prize, a voucher for free concessions.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Grant said interjecting, “The sign clearly states that...”

“ _The sign_ ,” the vendor said, cutting him off, “Says that there are _five prizes_. That’s the _fifth prize_. If you want to win the grand prize, you need to beat the high score _five times in a row_!”

The vendor turned towards Lucy. A slimy smile spread across his face as he said, “Which means that if you want to win the grand prize, you have to win _four more times in a row_. And it’s going to cost you fifty gold pieces _for each and every round_.”

He turned to face Grant. “So unless you’ve got another six hundred gold pieces to spare, I suggest you take your prize and _shove off_ before I call the guards!”

Grant would have loved nothing more than to sponsor Lucy until she claimed the grand prize; that, or send the lying bugger of a merchant flying through the air with a hard punch to the jaw. But he didn’t have the funds or the complete disregard for the law necessary to do either.

Lucy looked as if she would leap across the counter and strangle the man with her bare hands. The vendor saw this and signaled for the guards. One look from them was all that was needed to render the girl’s rage impotent. She glanced from one guard to the other and shot the vendor one last hateful look before she turned and stormed off.

“And good riddance to you!” The vendor shouted after her in smug triumph.

Grant shot the vendor a disgusted look, then turned on his heel and went after her.

“Excuse me!” he called out. Lucy made no attempt to slow down.

Grant picked up his pace. “Please! Wait a moment!”

Lucy rounded a corner into the camp’s center, and effortlessly weaved her way through the crowd towards the gate. Grant continued chasing after her but was forced to shove carnival-goers out of the way as he tried, much like a fish swimming upstream, to blaze a path through the dense mass of humanity. He offered apologies where he could, but he was determined not to let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity pass him by. So propriety be damned, he would not let this young woman get away without first learning her name. With a final shove, Grant emerged from the crowd and caught a glimpse of Lucy’s short bronze hair just as she was passing through the gate.

“My Lady!” Grant called out between ragged breaths. “Please wait! My Lady!”

The girl finally stopped. Moments later he caught up to her at the western end of the bridge. Grant leaned against the stones for support, with his head bowed, and his body slumped forward as he tried to catch his breath.

“Please… if I could just… just…” he said between ragged breaths.

“I’m no lady.”

Grant looked up in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, ‘I’m no lady’, so there’s no need to be calling me one,” she answered in an annoyed tone, “And another thing: I appreciate what you did for me back there, and I am sorry that you lost all that gold, but I never asked you for your help. So if you’re here to harass me about paying you back, you can forget it. I can’t pay you back; at least, not at the moment. But if you just give me some time…”

“ _Wait, wait, wait_ ,” Grant said, gesturing with his hands for her to slow down, “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What do you mean, ‘pay me back’?”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow at him. “The gold you lost at the shooting range. I can’t pay you back for it.”

“Oh? That?” Grant waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “What does that matter?”

Lucy stared at him. “You just lost one hundred and fifty gold pieces because of me, and all there is to show for it are a couple of worthless vouchers for concessions that are just as likely to give you a bad case of the runs.”

Grant couldn’t help but snort in laughter at the comment.

“I’m serious,” Lucy said in an exasperated tone, “Losing that much gold is no laughing matter.”

“Forgive me,” Grant apologized, “You’re right, of course. Under normal circumstances losing that much gold wouldn’t be a laughing matter. But don’t worry about it, Miss. I don’t care about the gold. Truth be told, I could have lost a hundred times that amount and it still would have been worth it.”

Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. _He doesn’t care?! Is he being serious?_ This guy had just lost what many would consider a small fortune, and here he was brushing it off as casually as Lucy might have brushed off the dirt on her shoes. Lucy gave the stranger a more appraising look.

He was of a height with her, and his attire was similar to what someone would have worn to religious gatherings or other such important events. His broad face was pleasing enough to look upon with its soft cheek bones, straight nose, cleft chin, and slightly unkempt brown hair. There was a sense of warmth, honesty, and kindness in his brown eyes. Despite being slightly awkward, his manners were both earnest and polite, and they gave him a kind of down-to-earth charm that wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

In the end, she judged Grant to be a decent sort of bloke. Polite and kind, and handsome in his own way, but nowhere close to the kind of dark, tall, handsome, and mysterious man that most women her age dreamed of meeting and marrying one day. But all of that changed with Grant’s next words.

“You were _brilliant_! _Absolutely brilliant_! I’ve never seen anyone display such skill before! And the way you handled yourself with that gun? It was as if heroes had come back to Albion, like Briar Rose herself had emerged from the past and was standing right before me! You were a true bonafide crackshot!”

Lucy blinked in surprise. “Briar Rose? What do you know about her?”

“ _Well_ …” Grant said with an eager smile on his face. He proceeded to divulge everything he knew on the subject of Briar Rose and, as it turned out much to Lucy’s great joy and surprise, it was quite a lot.

Briar Rose was a hero of skill and a contemporary of the “Chicken Chaser”, the Hero of Oakvale. Briar Rose came from a noble background, but after her mother was killed in an accident, her father blamed her for the accident and subsequently cast her out. Left to fend for herself, Briar Rose eventually joined the Heroes’ Guild and would later become one of the guild’s most celebrated heroes, renowned throughout Albion as much for her scholastic achievements as her marksmanship.

Aside from being one of Albion’s most vivacious, skilled, and intelligent heroes, Briar Rose also played a significant role in helping the Hero of Oakvale to forever put an end to the terrifying fiend, Jack of Blades, when he emerged as a fire-breathing dragon in the Northern Wastes. She would later be counted among the first heroes to adopt and master firearms, which had just crossed over the Blade Mountains to the east from the distant land of Samarkand.

“Unfortunately, we still don’t know what ultimately became of Briar Rose,” Grant explained as he neared the end of his recitation, “Some scholars and historians have speculated that she was killed when the Guild was destroyed four hundred years ago. Still, others claim that she died of natural causes just before the Guild’s destruction and that if she had been around, she might have been able to help the Guildmaster to settle the many grievances between the Guild and the town of Oakvale.”

“And what do you think happened to her?” Lucy asked.

Grant mulled it over for a moment. “Personally, I believe that she returned to the Northern Wastes after Jack of Blades was destroyed. It’s probably just the hopeless romantic in me, but I’d like to think that she spent her final years in retirement, studying the ancient ruins and tomes that were said to exist in and around the village of Snowspire. Of course, there’s no evidence to support my theory, but at least it’s a better fate for a hero as remarkable as Briar Rose.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I suppose it is.”

What Grant didn’t know was that Lucy was already quite familiar with Briar Rose. She was, in point of fact, Lucy’s favorite hero. Lucy was thrilled to finally meet someone who was not only as familiar with Briar Rose as she was, but also recognized how remarkable of a woman and heroine she was. Briar Rose was someone that Lucy venerated as a role model; an ideal that she tried to emulate in every aspect of her life. Well … not every aspect. Unlike her hero, who was content with finding solace in her vast collection of books, tomes, scrolls, manuscripts, and notes; Lucy had no intention of ending her life completely alone.

“Anyway,” Grant said, changing the subject, “I hope you don’t mind my asking this, but where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“My brother taught me all the basics of how to handle a gun,” Lucy explained, “He’s a guard in Old Town, and he wanted to make sure that I would be able to defend myself when he wasn’t around. As for the rest, I just sort of picked it up on my own.”

“Just like that? All on your own?”

“All on my own.” She confirmed.

“ _Amazing_ ,” Grant said in astonishment, “You truly are the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

The corners of Lucy’s lips curled upwards into a slight smile.

“All right, Mister Whoever-You-Are,” she said, taking a step closer to Grant, “So what is it that you want?”

“Want?” Grant asked, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

“Yes,” she said, “First, and without being asked to, you paid for me to compete in the shooting range. Next, you start chasing after me when I had had enough of that bloody trader’s tosh, knocking over a number of people in the process. Then when I say that I can’t pay back the gold you lost on my behalf, you simply shrug it off and tell me that it doesn’t matter. Next, you tell me that I remind you of Briar Rose, and then you go on to say that I’m the most amazing person you’ve ever met. It’s all very sweet, but I still don’t know who you are, or what you want with me.”

“Oh… sorry.” Grant apologized. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s just… well… I wanted to know what your name is.”

She considered that for a moment. “Lucy.”

Grant blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lucy,” she repeated, “My name is, Lucy.”

“ _Lucy_ …” Grant said her name softly, almost reverently as he stared at her in awe and wonder. Lucy shifted her feet impatiently and cleared her throat loudly. Realizing all at once that he was staring at her like a lovesick puppy, Grant shook his head and blinked hard to clear his thoughts.

“Oh! Where have my manners gone off to?” he said, as he quickly straightened his posture and offered her a courteous bow, “Allow me to introduce myself: My name is Grant; Grant Fairfax. And it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lucy.”

Lucy locked eyes with Grant and stepped closer in a slow and graceful manner, like a cat prowling in the night.

“So, now you know my name,” Lucy said in a low, husky voice, “So tell me; is that _all_ you wanted?”

No … that wasn’t all Grant wanted. He wanted to know everything about her. Who was she? Where did she come from? What were her hopes and dreams for the future? What were her deepest fears and most dreaded nightmares? What did she love? What did she hate? What did she want? In short, he wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to be with her more than any other person on the face of the Earth.

Grant opened his mouth, but then quickly shut it again as he suddenly realized what he was thinking. He couldn’t say such things to a woman who, as beautiful and amazing as she was, was still a complete stranger to him. It would make him look like a complete fool. Worse yet, she might mistake him for a pervert.

She was standing close to him now, close enough for him to smell the heady aroma of her perfume. Grant could feel himself being intoxicated by the scent and his close proximity to Lucy.

“Well…” He hesitated for a moment, “No.”

Suddenly he could feel his entire face turning beet red. He quickly glanced downward at his feet, hoping against reason that Lucy would not notice his embarrassment. After what seemed to be a very long moment for him, Grant finally managed to collect himself and summon the courage to look up and was astonished to see a twinkle in Lucy’s vibrant green eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Come on!” Lucy said as she suddenly grabbed Grant by the wrist and led him back towards the carnival.

“ _Woah!_ ” He said, forgetting all thoughts of humiliation and embarrassment, “Where are we going?”

“ _We_ ,” she said pointedly, glancing back at him and flashing him a crooked smile, “Are going back and putting these vouchers to good use. And then you’re going to buy me a drink and tell me more about yourself, and everything you know about heroes.”

Grant grinned lopsidedly.

 

* * *

 

_Present Day_

It had truly been a perfect day for a carnival. The weather had promised to be sunny with mostly clear skies, and it had not failed to deliver upon that promise. The slight breeze coming from the lake brought welcome relief to the scores of travelers enduring the heat of the hot spring sun overhead.

Like so many carnival-goers, Grant and Lucy were not disappointed with the festivities. The couple quickly made up for lost time by savoring the culinary delights sizzling over open fires and steaming cauldrons, and the vast assortment of beverages both ordinary and exotic. They were awed by the spectacular shows of the fire-breathers, the hysterical antics of the jugglers and entertainers, the soothing melodies of the lute players, the thrills and chills of the storytellers as they dramatically recounted the tales of the fictional hero Perilous Spandex, and the dancing of the gypsy women as they bent their scantily-clad bodies in ways that should not have been physically possible.

Between the heat of the day and the greasy nature of the food and beverages they consumed, Grant thanked the Lords of Light that neither he nor Lucy had been struck by a bad case of the runs. In fact, as Grant suddenly recalled, the Lords of Light had been kind to the both of them on this same day over a year ago. Neither of them had become sick from the concessions they received for free, nor from the drinks they consumed, or the butterflies that Grant felt fluttering in his stomach. To this day he still could not believe his luck at not only meeting a woman as amazing and attractive as Lucy was, but that she also shared his passion for heroes, the Old Kingdom, and the many legends that surrounded them.

Leaning against the tree that crowned the hill overlooking the camp below with his arms wrapped tenderly around Lucy’s waist, Grant could not imagine his life without her. As the sun continued its slow descent towards the horizon, its brilliant rays painted the sky and low-hanging clouds in warm hues of red, orange, and yellow light. The gentle breeze wafting through the air carried the aroma of wild flowers, fresh grass, and a hint of Lucy’s perfume. Best of all was the warmth of Lucy’s hands on his as they waited for the sun to disappear and the fireworks display to commence.

He pulled her closer and planted a soft, tender kiss on her cheek.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Lucy sighed pleasantly, “That’s nice.”

Lucy turned her head to the side.

“But don’t think that’s going to get you off the hook,” She teased, “You were still late.”

“I know,” he said, “But this time I have a good reason.”

Lucy shifted in Grant’s arms and gave him a skeptical look. “It had better be a good one. After all, this is our one year anniversary.”

Grant gave her a knowing smile.

“Oh, believe me, it’s a good one.” He released his grip around Lucy’s waist and reached for the satchel he was carrying over his shoulder. Reaching inside, he produced a large wooden box with a lock and handed it to Lucy.

“What’s this?” She asked.

“A very special present,” Grant said, “To mark a very special day, with a _very_ special lady.”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow and shot him with a look of mock-annoyance. “I’ve told you before, Grant…”

“’I’m no lady,’ yes I know,” He finished for her, “You’ve said it a hundred times before. But to me, you’ll always be my Lady.”

She rolled her eyes at the corny line, but no matter how annoying she found it whenever he called her a lady, she would never take it away from him. It was one of those little things about Grant that endeared him so much to her. Returning her attention to the present in her hand, she noticed that it was quite heavy, and the top of the lid was emblazoned with the golden-crowned tower sigil of the Fairfax family. Whatever was inside, it must be of immense value. Lucy placed the box onto the log parapet that surrounded them on the hill. She tried to open it, but the box was locked.

“Here,” Grant said as he produced a small key from one of the pockets inside his coat, “You’ll need this.”

Lucy took the key, inserted it into the lock, and gave it a twist. There was an audible click as the lock disengaged. Lucy quickly undid the metallic clasp, opened the lid, and sucked in her breath as she gazed upon the present inside. It was a necklace fashioned from solid gold and adorned with a pendant that was encrusted with a single large green gemstone. It was an emerald of the finest quality, Lucy’s favorite gemstone.

“It’s beautiful.” She said softly as she gingerly picked the necklace up and held it aloft for the both of them to see.

“I’ll bet it would be even more beautiful on you,” Grant said as he carefully clasped the elegant piece of jewelry around her neck. She turned to face him, and from the look in his eyes, she could tell that he was right. The necklace looked even more beautiful on her.

“It’s wonderful, Grant.” She said, as she stepped forward and thanked him with a quick kiss. As their lips broke away, Lucy looked at Grant curiously. “But isn’t a box this big and heavy a little much for a necklace?”

“For just a necklace, yes,” Grant agreed, “But then, there’s more inside than just a necklace.”

Lucy looked at him in surprise and confusion. Seeing the next question plainly on her face, Grant answered, “Lift up the panel inside and you’ll see.”

 _What else could there possibly be?_ Lucy wondered as she looped the tips of her fingers underneath the sides of the felt panel and carefully lifted it away, revealing her other present.

The look on Lucy’s face when she first saw the necklace was nothing compared to the wide-eyed expression of complete shock and utter delight that erupted on her lovely face. She screamed and squealed like a little girl as she gazed down upon the best present that she had ever been given in her entire life. Inside the box was a master-crafted six-shot turret pistol with gold engravings across its multiple barrels and trigger guard, a handle carved from a single piece of ivory, and an elegant inscription that read, _“To the best Crackshot in all of Albion. You are the champion of my heart.”_

Lucy hopped on her feet like a small child jumping on a bed. She covered her mouth with both hands in an attempt to silence the happy screams that even now erupted from deep within her. Unable to contain her excitement any longer, Lucy turned and threw herself at Grant, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace and planting many kisses on his lips before he could react.

When the kisses finally stopped, Grant looked into Lucy’s eyes and asked, “Am I forgiven now?”

“Yes!” She said laughing, “Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! You’re forgiven!”

She released her embrace around his neck, grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him towards the box and the magnificent weapon contained inside. She hefted the pistol in her hand and was surprised and impressed by its weight and balance. She spun the weapon expertly between her long fingers with the trigger guard, rotated the multiple barrels with a single swipe of her palm, cocked the hammer a few times, and aimed it at imaginary targets just over the horizon.

It was perfect. _Absolutely perfect_.

“There’s a leather holster for it inside the box too.” Grant pointed out.

Lucy had been so excited with the pistol that she hadn’t noticed the baldric-style leather holster at the bottom of the box. There was also a small belt-mounted leather pouch which contained the weapon’s ammunition, and a small repair kit for maintaining and cleaning the weapon. Lucy wasted little time threading the holster around her body and securing it in place with a heavy metal buckle. She then attached the ammunition pouch to her new harness, adjusted it so that it was in a position that was both comfortable and easy to reach, and then holstered her new sidearm. The weight of the gun on her hip was both comforting and satisfying.

Happy beyond her wildest expectations, Lucy wrapped her arms around Grant and gazed lovingly into his warm brown eyes. “Thank you, Grant. This is the best present ever.”

She leaned in and gave him a long kiss.

By this time the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the stars and moon had begun to twinkle in the sky overhead. The crowds of carnival-goers had begun to cluster around the handful of clearings in the trees, and out in the fields beyond the camp, eagerly waiting with barely-contained anticipation for the fireworks to commence. Standing at the log parapet with Lucy’s arms wrapped around him, Grant had lost all sense of time and place, not realizing that the fireworks were just about to start when he gently pushed her back to allow some space between them. Lucy recognized the serious expression on his face and frowned.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Wrong? No,” he said in mild surprise, “No. There’s nothing wrong. Nothing at all.”

“Then what are you looking at me like that for?” Lucy asked, cocking her head to the side, “Don’t deny it. I’ve seen that look before, Grant Fairfax. That look on your face means you’ve got something serious to say to me, and most likely it’s something that you know I’m not going to like.”

 _Not this time._ Grant thought to himself.

Grant couldn’t have been more pleased by Lucy’s reaction to the necklace and the pistol he had bought for her to mark their anniversary, but they weren’t the only presents he had for her. Hidden inside his coat was a little black box that contained an engagement ring. After all, what better place in the world could there be for Grant to ask Lucy to be his wife than the place where fate had brought them together?

“You’re right; at least about me having something serious to say. But you’ve got it all wrong, my Lady. This isn’t something that you’re not going to like. At least, I don’t think so.”

A skeptical look came over her face. “Yeah? Then what is it?”

Grant reached inside his coat pocket. He was just about to pull the box out when suddenly, the first of the fireworks lit up the sky, and a thunderous _BOOM_ rattled across the camp. Lucy turned and was awed by the kaleidoscope of colors spreading across the nighttime sky. Startled by the flash of light and the noise, Grant dropped the small box containing the engagement ring. The light from the fireworks had disappeared, plunging the area around Grant in total darkness. Fortunately, Lucy’s attention was firmly fixed towards the sky, so she didn’t see the box.

 _Blimey!_ Grant cursed himself for his clumsiness. _Of all the times! Where is the bloody thing?!_

“ _Wow!_ ” Lucy said, raising her gaze upwards. The sky erupted into a fountain of colors, sparks, whistles, hisses, and overpowering _BANGS_ and _BOOMS_! A cold sweat peppered Grant’s forehead as he waited anxiously for the flashes of light to illuminate the ground. He had to find the ring and find it quickly while Lucy was distracted.

_FLASH! KABOOM!_

Another firework went off, bathing the area with red and green light. Grant searched the ground around his feet. There was no sign of the box. The light vanished.

_FLASH! KABOOM! FLASH! BOOM!_

The area was again illuminated by the light of the fireworks as they exploded high overhead. Grant expanded his search to the ground were Lucy was standing. Again, there was no sign of the box. Grant sighed quietly with relief. At least there was no chance that Lucy would accidentally step on the box or trip over it.

_FLASH! BANG! BANG! BOOM!_

Several fireworks went off all at once, bathing the area with a blinding white light that was a godsend for Grant. It illuminated the entire top of the hill. Looking to his left, he spotted a dark shape near the tree that might be the box. Suddenly, the area was again plunged into darkness.

“C’mon Grant!” Lucy called out, “You’re missing it!”

Grant groped desperately in the darkness until he felt something. He wrapped his fingers around the object and lifted it off the ground. He instantly recognized that it wasn’t the ring box. It was too heavy and jagged. A rock most likely. Grant tossed it aside and continued to probe in the dark with his free hand.

_FLASH!_

There it was! The ring box was lying on its side in a soft patch of dirt near the tree's roots. Grant reached out, grabbed the box, and was horrified to discover that it was covered in dirt, twigs, and mud.

 _What am I going to do now?_ Grant despaired as he tried to wipe the worst of the grime and filth from the box.

“Grant! You’re going to miss it!”

“I’ll be right there,” Grant called back. Left with no other choice, he brushed off the remnants of filth that he could, quietly stuffed the ring box back into his coat pocket, and stood next to Lucy. Moments later the fireworks reached their crescendo. A deafening bang thundered across the water and washed over the crowds. The fireworks ended with a brilliant flourish of light and color.

“That was wonderful,” Lucy said as she stretched her arms, and rolled her head to work out the kinks in her neck.

“Yeah,” Grant said as he gazed wistfully at Lucy, “It really is wonderful.”

Lucy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and gave him a crooked smile, recognizing that Grant wasn’t talking about the fireworks.

“So,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and turning to face him. “What did you want to say?”

“I’m sorry?” Grant asked nervously.

“Before the fireworks started, you said that you had something to say to me. What was it?”

Grant said nothing.

“Well c’mon, Grant.” she said with growing impatience, “What was it?”

A long moment passed before Grant spoke.

“I… I seem to have forgotten what it was I wanted to say.”

“Don’t worry, Grant,” Lucy said, offering encouragement as she wrapped her arms around Grant’s right arm, “Whatever it was, I’m sure it’ll come back to you. Especially if it was important.”

_You have no idea._

“Yeah. I’m sure it will.” He said aloud.


	3. Bandits

_"You struggle to keep your footing atop the mast of the flying frigate,”_ Grant read softly, _“As you simultaneously dodge the flailing tails of three Scorpion Pirates beside you, and the shuriken thrown by the Zebra Warriors from the deck below.”_

It was a passage from, “ _A Perilous Adventure, Bronze Edition_ ”, the first of three volumes from the wildly popular _Pick Your Own Destiny_ series of game books that allowed its readers to imagine themselves in the shoes of the fictitious hero, Perilous Spandex. Grant had acquired the book and its companion volumes from Southcliff’s bookstore, along with an especially rare edition of “ _The Hero of Oakvale_ ” and the “ _Book of Spells_ ”.

Knowing the ride to Bowerstone would be long and boring, Lucy had asked Grant to read one of his new books to her to help pass the time. Grant was happy to satisfy her request. The carriage’s bench seat was among the most uncomfortable that Grant had ever had the displeasure to sit in; but thanks to the combination of a good book, and the feeling of Lucy’s head resting on his shoulder, Grant was able to push the discomfort so far out of his mind that he no longer cared.

_“You now regret eating that sixth helping of honey-dipped Troll rinds (lose 4 dexterity points). Will you: Try to catch one of the scorpion tails as it swings towards you, and use it to spray poison on to the Zebra Warriors? (Turn to page 121); Use one of your Will powers? (Turn to page 362); Continue fighting the Scorpion Pirates with your Whining Sword of Hopelessness? (Turn to page 11)"_

Lucy shifted in her seat.

“You do know that book is complete rubbish, don’t you?” she asked.

Grant placed a finger between the pages before closing the book and setting it down on his lap.

“It is not,” he protested, “Books like these are the closest that either of us will ever come to knowing what it’s like to be a hero.”

She teased him with a mocking expression.

“With a Whining Sword of Hopelessness?” she asked pointedly.

“Especially with a Whining Sword of Hopelessness,” He refuted with all sincerity. “No hero would be complete without their very own legendary weapon. William Black and the Hero of Oakvale had the _Sword of Aeons_ , Thunder had his _Thunderblade_ , Scarlet Robe the _Murren Greataxe_ , Twinblade had his _Twinblades_ , and Briar Rose had her _Blaster_ , etcetera. So we can’t forget the most important part of the tale.”

Lucy conceded the point with a roll of her eyes. Leaning back against the seat to recompose himself, Grant reopened the book. “So,” he continued, “Do we try to catch one of the scorpion tails? Use one of our Will powers? Or continue fighting with the Whining Sword of Hopelessness?”

Lucy shook her head in resignation.

“Oh, Grant,” she said with a slight smile, “What am I going to do with you?”

 

While Grant and Lucy contemplated what Perilous Spandex would do next in his adventure, the road took their coach into a small patch of woods. Unbeknownst to them, they were being watched. Leaning from his perch atop the tree’s highest branches, Tom hooded his eyes with his free hand and squinted towards the edge of the woods. A satisfied smile slowly spread across his sagging jowls as he spotted the coach in the distance. It was heading right towards him.

“ _Nyuk nyuk nyuk,_ ” Tom laughed to himself.

“What’re you laughing at, ya numbskull?!”

Tom jumped at the sound and scrambled to hold his footing. After regaining his balance, he glanced down irritably at the two bandits standing near the tree’s base. The first bandit, Dick, was a short, hard man with a bowl cut, a mean pair of dark eyes, and a hard-looking mouth that was always frowning.

“Tom! You’d better not be screwin’ round up there!” Dick warned with an upraised fist, “Or you’ll be sorry!”

“Yeah!” said the man beside him, “No screwing around!”

“What’re you yellin’ at him for?!” Dick whirled on the second man, slapping him hard across the face, “ _Bleeding smartarse!_ When the boss ain’t round, _I_ give the orders round here!”

The second bandit, Harry, took a step back and gingerly rubbed the side of his face. He was average in both height and build, with an unruly mop of thick curly brown hair that grew from the sides of his bald head like the branches of a tree. He also had heavy bags under his nervous brown eyes. “What did I do?”

Dick grabbed a handful of Harry’s hair and yanked it hard. Harry yelped as Dick pulled him close and slapped him again across the other side of his face.

“Plenty!” Dick barked in Harry’s face before shoving him back. “You just keep yer mouth shut!”

It was then that Tom, laughing hysterically at Harry’s misfortune, suddenly lost his footing and came crashing through the branches to land on top of Dick. Harry chewed at his fingernails when he saw Tom lying on top of Dick with the latter’s face firmly planted in the earth. Realizing how perilous the situation was, Harry quickly yanked Tom onto his feet, and together they picked Dick off the ground and brushed the dirt from his face and soiled clothing.

“Gee, Dick,” Harry said nervously, “You all right?”

“ _Oy!_ ” said Tom, “He looks all right to me.”

Tom was a pudgy man with a shaven head, sagging jowls, and bulging eyes that had an unhealthy sallow to them. He had an annoyingly high-pitched voice and an odd accent that made him sound innocent, comical, and daft all at once.

Dick abruptly brushed his companions aside. Tom and Harry took a step back, readying themselves for the inevitable burst of anger, but it didn’t come. At least not right away. After taking a few moments to wipe his face clean with the bandana around his neck, Dick suddenly punched Tom and Harry in the eye. Tom’s head snapped back, and Harry doubled over in pain.

“ _Ow!_ ” Tom squealed, “ _That smarts!_ ”

“Yeah? Well, it’s gonna smart even more if you don’t shut it!” Dick reeled his fist back to strike Tom again, but just then a hand reached out, grasped Dick’s balled fist, and yanked him right off his feet.

“ _Hey!_ ” Dick shouted as he dangled in the air like a ragdoll, “ _What’s the big…_ ”

Dick’s eyes widened, and his blood ran cold at the sight of the face in front of him. It was long and lean, with bushy eyebrows, hollow cheeks, a square chin that thrust forward, and the coldest and most maniacal pair of eyes that Dick had ever seen in another bandit.

“ _Uh, uh, uh…_ ” Dick’s captor chided, “I’ll have none of that chaps. We may be a merry old band of outlaws, but I won’t have my men quarreling amongst themselves when they have work to do.”

A grin spread across the bandit’s face, revealing an enormous mouth full of yellow teeth that had been filed into sharp points. A cold drop of sweat ran down the side of Dick’s face as he stared into that awful grin, which had given his boss his infamous moniker.

“O’course,” Dick said, forcing a smile on his face, “Whatever you say, Grinner.”

The bandit leader’s grin widened.

“ _Very good._ ” Grinner said with approval, “Just what I like to see. A nice … _BIG_ … _smile_.”

Grinner let go of Dick’s hand, letting him collapse to the ground in a heap. Dick quickly jumped onto his feet and stood with Tom and Harry, making sure that he was still smiling as he rubbed at the pain in his wrist. Privately Dick fumed over Tom and Harry’s uselessness and promised himself that when the time was right he was going to make them sorry.

“Now tell me,” Grinner said, crossing his arms over his chest, “What did you see?”

He was looking at Tom when he asked the question, but even that was enough to make Harry step behind Dick and shiver in fear. Dick elbowed Harry and quietly reminded him to smile out of the corner of his mouth. Harry complied, smiling broadly even though his legs were shaking and his knees were knocking. Tom offered his boss a sincere grin as he excitedly made his report. Dick couldn’t decide if the pudgy man was too innocent, or too stupid to fear Grinner.

“There’s a coach comin’ boss!” He pointed towards the east, “Just entered the woods up the road over there.”

Grinner eyed his lieutenants for a long moment. Tom, Dick, and Harry were a bunch of bumbling idiots, and the most incompetent and pathetic excuses for bandits that he had ever seen. Tired of their clumsy antics, he had entertained the notion of killing them on more than one occasion. Yet somehow, for some reason he could never fathom, he never got around to it. No matter how stupid or clumsy they may be, Tom, Dick, and Harry were the luckiest bastards he had ever met. On at least a dozen occasions he had witnessed them escape from what should have been certain death with barely a scratch between them. That kind of luck was rare and hard to come by.

Grinner chuckled softly as he turned towards the rest of his men. There were more than a dozen present, and each were among the toughest, meanest, dirtiest, and most foul-smelling bandits that Grinner could find. The gang was known far and wide as the “Smiling Bandits”, a name which they had earned thanks to Grinner’s insistence that all of his men not only be smart, capable, and able-bodied thieves and cutthroats, but that they must also possess a smile that was as wide and handsome has his own. Especially whenever the gang went pillaging, plundering, and murdering.

“All right boys!” Grinner declared as he raised his rusty cleaver high over his head, “Up into the trees!”

The bandits smiled in unison as their boss gave the command. It was a familiar routine: Whenever one of the scouts spotted a coach on the road, they would climb the trees and wait for their unsuspecting prey to come close enough for them to jump aboard, kill the driver, and then steer the coach into an off-road clearing. Once in the clearing, the bandits would then ambush the passengers and kill them, thereby leaving no witnesses while at the same time allowing them to loot their corpses with impunity. Unless of course one or more of the passengers turned out to be a pretty girl. In which case, Grinner and the gang would be enjoying _other_ forms of entertainment.

“And don’t forget to smile! Because it’s show time!”

The forest echoed with the sounds of Grinner’s maniacal laughter.

 

“So, what do we do now?”

“Let’s see…” Lucy trailed off as she considered her options: Try to catch one of the scorpion tails as it swings towards you, and use it to spray poison on to the Zebra Warriors? Use one of your Will powers? Or continue fighting the Scorpion Pirates with your Whining Sword of Hopelessness?

“How about we…” Lucy was suddenly interrupted by a loud thud. Everyone inside the coach looked up towards the sound. It seemed to have come from the driver’s seat. Sensing something was amiss, Lucy sat up straight in her seat. Grant closed his book and replaced it in his satchel.

“What was that?” Asked one of the other passengers, a middle-aged merchant traveling with his young wife.

“I’m not sure,” Grant answered.

“It’s probably nothing,” scoffed the second passenger. The words were barely out of his mouth when there was a loud crack, followed by a dull thud.

“That sounded like it came from the driver.” Said the merchant’s wife.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Lucy reached for her pistol and checked to see if it was loaded.

“What’s wrong?” Grant asked.

“I don’t know, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” She replied as she calmly loaded her pistol. There was a second thud, followed by the sound of something falling from the coach. Lucy quickly pulled the curtain back and caught a glimpse of the driver’s body crashing into the ditch beside the road.

“That was the driver!” The merchant’s wife said as she peered out the window.

The coach suddenly veered to the left, slamming the passengers against the cabin’s interior. Grant twisted his body to catch Lucy and felt the air being driven out of him as they were slammed against the cabin wall. Lucy collapsed on top of him but quickly got back up. The other passengers screamed in fear.

“What’s happening?!”

“I’ll tell you what’s happening,” Lucy bit back, “The coach is being hijacked!”

 

“ _Nyuk nyuk nyuk_ ,” Tom sniggered as he watched the driver’s body fly through the air and land in the ditch with a satisfying crunch. He loved that sound almost as much as he loved the sound of the driver’s skull caving in from the blow of his rusty mace, and the sounds of terrified screams coming from the passengers.

 _Ahhh! This is the life!_ Tom sighed happily. He was so lost in his reverie that he didn’t realize that Harry was hanging from the back of the coach screaming for help. Dick smacked the back of his head.

“What’re ya standing round for?!” Dick barked at Tom, “Get Harry up ere and be quick about it!”

Tom grunted indignantly at Dick’s backside but did as he was commanded.

Harry, forever the victim of a nervous disposition, had second-guessed himself at the last moment and misjudged his timing when he, Dick, and Tom leaped from the trees and onto the coach as it passed below. Dick landed in the driver’s seat, with Tom landing just behind the driver shortly after him. Harry, on the other hand, nearly missed the coach all together. It was only by a stroke of luck that he managed to grab hold of the luggage rack and hang on, but now he found himself dangling helplessly from the back of the coach.

“ _Tom! Dick! Somebody help me up!_ ” Harry cried out, kicking his legs helplessly through the air. Tom’s head suddenly popped up above him.

“ _Tom! Pull me up!_ ” Harry pleaded.

“Soytenly! _Nyuk nyuk nyuk_.” Tom sniggered as he grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck and deposited him onto the roof.

“Thanks, Tom.” Harry said, slapping Tom on the shoulder in thanks, “You’re a real pal.”

“Gee, thanks, Harry,” Tom said with a crooked half-smile.

Harry bounded across the roof and sat down next to Dick. The two bandits took the reins in their hands and steered the carriage onto a side road that took them deeper into the woods. With nothing else left to do but wait, Tom decided to have a look at the passengers inside. If they were lucky, maybe one or two of them would be girls. If there were any girls, Tom silently prayed they would be young and pretty. And if they weren’t; well, a girl was still a girl whether she was pretty or not, and he could still have some … _fun_ … with her.

Squatting down on his hands and knees, Tom leaned over the edge and peered inside. There were five passengers in total: three male and two female. The two men to his left were merchants. The ridiculously long twisted mustaches on their faces made that plain as day. The third man was younger, with unkempt brown hair, a light beard, and clothing that belonged to Bowerstone’s middle-class. That made Tom happy, because middle-class villagers and wandering merchants usually carried a lot of gold with them.

The woman to his left stared at him wide-eyed, then suddenly recoiled with terror at the sight of him. Though fear had drained most of the color from her face, she still had a very clean and healthy look to her that Tom liked. When Tom looked to the right his eyes went wide, stunned by what he saw: short bronze hair, brilliant green eyes, and a snug little riding outfit that complemented every curve of the young woman’s body. Tom couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman this pretty before. He grinned stupidly as his imagination was filled with images of all the things he wanted to do to her.

The bronze-haired beauty lifted something towards him, and suddenly Tom found himself staring straight down the multiple barrels of a turreted pistol. The stupid grin vanished from his face. He snapped his head back just as she pulled the trigger. The window exploded into a shower of glass shards. The passengers screamed at the top of their lungs, and the horses reared and plunged ahead wildly, frightened out of their wits by the sound of the gunshot.

“ _Woah! WOAH!!_ ” Dick and Harry both cried as they were nearly thrown from their seats. They tightened their grip on the reins and pulled. It wasn’t enough, so they dug their heels in and leaned back in their seats, pulling with all of their strength to bring the terrified horses under control. It was no use. The coach rocked on its great leather springs, bucking Tom into the air and slamming him belly-first onto the roof. He rolled onto his side and groaned. This proved to be a very fortunate move on his part, because as soon as he did so a pair of holes were blown through the roof where his head and chest had been. Tom’s eyes widened when he saw how close he had come to biting the big one. He scrambled to one knee just as Harry jerked his head around.

“What was that?!” Harry asked. His eyes widened when he saw the holes in the roof. He knew bullet holes when he saw them.

“Dick,” Harry said urgently as he grabbed Dick’s shoulder and shook him earnestly, “We’ve got a problem!”

“What’d you mean we’ve got a…?”

Suddenly the seat between him and Harry exploded into wood splinters, tattered pieces of leather, and dusty clouds of seat padding.

“What was that?!” Dick asked between coughs.

“It sounded like a cannon!” cried Harry.

“There’s a goyl in there, and she’s got a gun!” Tom said, taking a step towards them, “A really _BIG_ gun!”

Another bullet blasted through the roof and pelted the bandits with a hail of wooden shrapnel. The bullet grazed the skin of Tom’s round belly, leaving a vertical burn in its wake. Dick and Harry were left dumbstruck by the near-miss, but Tom simply unsheathed his rusty mace.

“ _Nyuk nyuk nyuk,_ ” Tom laughed mockingly as he raised the weapon over his head, “ _You missed me! You missed me!_ ”

He was just about to bring the weapon down upon the roof when it suddenly got caught in the arms of a low-hanging branch. Tom yelped in surprise as he was hoisted off the coach and left dangling in the air. The pudgy bandit kicked his legs wildly in the air but refused to let go of the weapon.

“ _Hey!_ ” Tom called out as the coach rolled on without him, “ _What’s the big idea?_ ”

“You _numbskull_!” Dick growled as Tom shrank into the distance, “Where d’you think you’re going?”

“ _Look out!_ ” Harry cried as he shoved Dick down just in time to avoid being struck by a low-hanging branch.

“What the?! Get off me!” Dick growled.

Harry scrambled unto his hands and knees just as a sixth gunshot ripped through the carriage roof and grazed the side of Harry’s head, leaving a scorching hole in his thick mop of curly hair. Harry jerked back and yelped in fright, and was suddenly hoisted into the air by another low-hanging-branch.

“Help! _Help!_ ” Harry screamed as he dangled helplessly in mid-air.

“Hey!” Dick called after him, “Where d’you think _you’re_ going?”

The bandit heard a familiar _clicking_ sound beneath him. He glanced down through the hole in the driver’s seat and saw a young woman with short bronze hair and green eyes. She finished reloading the pistol in her hand and raised the weapon to point squarely at him.

The girl pulled the trigger.

Dick twisted away just in the nick of time, but the bullet took most of his left ear with it, spraying blood across his shoulder and neck. He could hear nothing beyond the ringing in his ears as he gingerly touched the left side of his face and felt something wet and warm. He pulled back his fingers and saw that they were slick with blood.

_That was close! Too close for comfort!_

Dick searched the woods around him for familiar landmarks to get his bearings. By his own reckoning, they were close to Grinner’s clearing, _but not close enough_. He would be dead long before he reached the clearing. Especially with all the gunfire coming from inside the coach.

_Time to fly the coop!_

He leaped into the trees just as a second and third gunshot destroyed what little remained of the driver’s seat. The coach sped off, leaving the sour-faced bandit to hang from the branches. Dick pulled himself up. He was just about to swing a leg over the branch when it suddenly snapped at its base, swinging the hapless bandit hard into the side of the tree.

“ _OOF!_ ” Dick grunted with the impact. Stars danced across his vision as he slid down the tree. He seemed to hit every branch on the way down, until he came to an abrupt halt, landing hard with the last branch between his legs. A long and high-pitched squeal of agony escaped his lips. Dick’s eyes rolled into the back of his skull, his mind overwhelmed by the pain in his crotch. When he finally regained consciousness, he found himself lying in the mud at the tree’s base. He gingerly rolled onto his back and stared up at the rays of sunlight penetrating the canopy above for a long time.

As he lay there in the mud, Dick promised himself that when the pain finally stopped, he was going to find Tom and Harry, and together they were going to make that lass with the gun sorry for what she had done to them.

 

The road from Bower Lake to Bowerstone was a long and well-beaten path that climbed over a landscape dotted by small ponds, shallow streams, rolling hills, and craggy valleys. From time to time the road cut through small patches of woods that were the last remnants of Greatwood, the once majestic forest that spanned almost the whole of Albion’s interior in the days when heroes still roamed the land.

In the centuries following the destruction of the Heroes’ Guild, the forest was steadily cut down to accommodate Bowerstone’s growing population. The few patches of woods that remained proved to be ideal places for outlaws to hide from the law, and to ambush unsuspecting travelers. Consequently, they became the favorite haunts of bandits and highwaymen alike. Without heroes to patrol the roadways, and with no central government to unite the many regions of Albion, there was no one to stop the bandits from seizing control of the roads and byways of the land.

Despite their valor and dedication to maintaining law and order, the town guards were simply too few and too thinly spread to stem the tide of lawlessness rising in Albion’s interior. To make up for the shortage in manpower, they hired adventurers and bounty hunters to seek out the worst of these outlaws and bring them to justice.

Connor was one such adventurer.

Three days had passed since Connor had taken the bounty for Grinner and his gang of Smiling Bandits, and over those three days, his search had taken him along Bower Lake’s western shore and into the woods north of the lake. There he found a group of bandits who, after some _aggressive persuasion_ , informed him that Grinner and his gang had moved their operations to a very particular patch of woods on the road leading west towards the city. Connor thanked the bandits by giving them a swift death before setting out.

Thanks to his experience in tracking and hunting in the woods, and his dog’s keen sense of smell, it didn’t take him long to find the gang’s camp. The camp was a dingy collection of hastily-constructed shelters made from the strewn remains of a half-dozen carriages, coaches, and wagons. The shelters were arranged in a half-circle against a rock outcropping with a large communal fire blazing in the center of the camp, with a large black kettle hanging over the fire from a crude wooden tripod.

Two bandits lay dead around the kettle, and a third was just barely clinging onto life. The first bandit had fallen to a crossbow bolt in the lung, and the second to a blow that split his skull in half like an overripe melon. The third bandit was down on the ground with quarrels lodged deep in the back of his left shoulder and thigh, desperately crawling towards the rifle that was leaning against the shelter.

It was no use.

Connor’s dog was a large and fearsome-looking male Alsatian with shaggy black/brown fur, large triangular ears, a pair of amber eyes that burned like molten steel, and an enormous black muzzle that was filled with needle-sharp teeth. The dog had the bandit’s right upper arm clenched tightly in its jaws. The dog growled as it sank its teeth deeper into the bandit’s flesh. Blood oozed from the wound, and the bandit squealed in pain. Connor felt no pity for the man. He was a bandit, and all bandits were scum that deserved no less. He would have loved nothing more than to take his head off and be done with it, but he needed to find Grinner and the rest of the gang.

“Where’s your boss?” Connor asked in a low, gruff tone that was laced with menace. The bandit looked up at him.

“You’ll pay for this!” He spat out between gasps of pain. “You just wait! When Grinner finds you…”

The bandit’s threats were cut short by Connor’s boot stomping down on his left wrist. There was a loud crunch, and the bandit cried out as pain shot up through his arm like lightning. Connor ground the boot into the bandit’s wrist, drawing out more groans of pain from the wretched scumbag.

“ _Where’s your boss?_ ” he repeated, angrier than before. He hated having to repeat himself.

The bandit clenched his teeth and remained silent. Connor’s patience began to wear thin.

“Beast … _Release_.” The dog obeyed, releasing his grip on the bandit’s arm.

The bandit let out a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. Connor gave him a swift kick to the ribs, rolling the hapless outlaw onto his side. The bandit curled into the fetal position and coughed up blood and saliva. Connor reached over his shoulder and unsheathed his weapon of choice, an axe of the kind often used by villagers to split logs for firewood. It was a plain and unremarkable weapon with a simple oak handle that had been polished smooth by long years of use, and a heavy wedge-shaped blade that was as lusterless as it was sharp. He dropped the axe head onto the ground directly in front of the bandit’s face. Bits of blood, brain, and flesh from the bandit’s compatriot were still clinging to the axe’s edge.

“Tell me where your boss is … Or else I start taking pieces off. Starting with…”

Suddenly, the quiet stillness of the woods was shattered by the distant sound of gunfire.

Connor froze in place and listened intently as a total of nine gunshots rang out from deep within the woods, echoed by the crunch of splintering wood, the wild neighing of horses, and the terrified screams of men and women. Beast pricked up his ears, cocked his head to the side, and listened intently. Then suddenly there was a tremendous crash, followed by the sounds of men hooting and jeering in triumph. The dog began to growl.

A corner of Connor’s mouth twisted upwards. There was no mistaking it. That was the sound of a carriage crashing in the woods, which meant that the bandits were up to their old tricks. If that was so, then their attention would be focused on their prize instead of watching their backs. It was as good of an opportunity as any to catch them unawares.

“Beast!” he commanded. “ _Come!_ ”

The dog bounded to his master’s side and barked in excitement. Connor scratched the dog behind the ears. A derisive chuckle escaped from the bandit’s lips between coughs.

“ _Heh, heh, heh_. You just wait ‘til Grinner gets hold of you. He’ll flay you alive and use your skin…”

Connor put an end to the bandit’s life with a swift downward blow of his axe. The terms of the bounty were clear. Grinner and his men were “Wanted: Dead or Mortally Wounded”. Connor preferred to leave them dead. He wiped the blood from the axe’s head, sheathed the weapon, and headed out into the darkness of the woods with Beast at his side.

 

The world was blurry shapes and moving shadows as Lucy opened her eyes. She could hear voices, but they sounded tinny and distant. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, and the side of her head was throbbing. She gave her head a small shake to try and clear it.

It helped a little.

The world around her started to come into focus. The blurry shapes resolved into moving trees, and the voices sounded clearer and less distant. She was leaning against something coarse and hard, like the bark of a tree. She heard a voice. It somehow sounded familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place who it belonged to. She thought she heard the voice calling her name, but she wasn’t sure. She put her hand up against her temple and felt something wet and warm. She pulled her hand back and looked at her fingers. Her vision was still a little blurry, but she could clearly discern the color of red spread across her fingers.

 _Blood._ She realized. _It’s my blood._

Someone kneeled before her and took her hand in theirs. The world around her crystallized at last as she recognized the sound of Grant’s voice.

“Lucy? Are you all right?” Grant asked anxiously. “Please say something.”

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut as the pain in her head flared.

“I’m … fine.” She said through clenched teeth.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I noticed.” She said with a wry smile.

Lucy felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She swallowed, trying to work moisture into her dry throat.

“What happened?” she asked hoarsely.

“We crashed,” Grant said as he carefully wiped away the blood with a handkerchief. “The carriage hit a bump or something, and then the next thing I know the horses are running off in one direction, and our coach in another. I realized what was about to happen, told everyone to brace themselves, and then grabbed hold of you and pulled you away from the window. It was a good thing I did too because if I hadn’t you would’ve taken the full force of the crash.”

It all started to come back to her, and she silently cursed herself.

The hijackers should have been easy pickings, like fish in a barrel. Yet somehow they managed to slip right through her fingers with barely a scratch between them. Even the pudgy bald one with that stupid look on his face had dodged the bullet, and he had literally been hanging right next to her!

A mournful groan escaped Lucy’s lips as she imagined the bandits’ laughter and the scornful look of disappointment that would be on her brother’s face when she told him this story. The streets of Old Town were among the meanest in Bowerstone, and Kevin wanted to be absolutely certain that his little sister would be able to defend herself, so he trained her in the art of gun-slinging and marksmanship. Pistols, rifles, blunderbusses, it didn’t matter which type of firearm it was, Kevin taught her how to use them all. He even taught her how to take them apart and put them back together again so she would understand their inner workings.

 _“You’ll never master a gun until you understand it from the inside out.”_ He used to say to her as he watched her disassemble and reassemble whatever firearm he laid on the table before her.

The pistol Grant had given her was of the finest quality and craftsmanship. Built from master-crafted steel, decorated in gold and ivory, it was easily the most exquisite firearm that she had ever seen. It was also the heaviest, yet it was perfectly balanced to fit in her hand. Even so, she did not expect the gun’s recoil to be as powerful as it was. Combined with the jostling from the bumpy road, the noise of the other passenger’s screams, the out-of-control horses, and a bit of dumb luck, and the result was that even a crackshot like Lucy could still miss the target. Even if those targets were literally right on top of her.

Lucy tried to stand and stumbled.

“Easy now,” Grant said, as he gently helped her to her feet, “Take it nice and slow. You took a pretty bad blow to the head after all.”

“Wait,” she asked with sudden worry, “What about the other passengers? Where did they go?”

Grant cocked his head towards the other passengers. The older merchant was leaning against the coach’s side while his wife wrapped a makeshift bandage around his head. The younger merchant lay on the ground unmoving.

“Is he?”

“He’s alive,” Grant assured her. “But he’s going to need a doctor.”

There was a soft crunch from behind. Lucy turned towards the sound, and as she did so Grant’s eyes widened, and the other passengers gasped in horror.

“Don’t worry about him,” the bandit said. “He won’t be needing a doctor.”

They were surrounded by a half dozen bandits. All were big, burly, and hard-looking men. Each of them was clad in whatever mismatched fabrics they had been able to get their hands on. From steel-toed boots to striped bandanas and skullcaps, all of their clothes (if you could call them that) were ragged, dirty, poorly sewn, and had a rancid smell to them. Each bandit held a weapon in his hand. Most of them were longswords that were old, rusted, nicked, and well-worn with sweat-stained leather grips. As ugly as they were, Lucy did not doubt that they would be just as effective as newly-forged steel in their hands. The lead bandit carried an iron cutlass that was still in good shape. Either he had stolen it recently, or he simply took better care of his weapons than his fellows.

“Well now … ain‘t this a pretty sight to see.” the lead bandit purred. Lucy felt her skin crawl as the bandit undressed her with his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to put a bullet through his eye.

“Get behind me,” Grant said, as he placed himself between her and the bandits. He shot a warning glance in the bandits’ direction.

“Oh c’mon now,” the bandit chided, “Don’t be selfish. We’d all like to have some fun with that pretty lass there. Maybe she’d like to find out what it’s like to be with a _real_ man.”

The bandit thrust his hips in a vulgar manner. Lucy felt her blood boil as the other bandits laughed with him.

“Hey,” said another bandit. “There’s _two_ of them.”

The lead bandit peered past Grant and noticed the merchant’s young wife clinging tightly to her husband. The bandit licked his lips like an animal, drawing fearful whimpers from the young woman. “ _Mmmm_ … looks mighty fine and tasty to me.”

“What do you want?” Grant asked, letting an edge of unease creep into his voice.

The lead bandit returned his attention to Grant and grinned slyly.

“What do we want? Good question,” The bandit sighed philosophically “We want the same thing that any man wants: gold … food … drink and … _pleasant_ _company_.”

“If it’s gold you’re after…” Grant trailed off as he reached slowly into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a purse. It was small, plump, and heavy with gold. He held it out for the bandits to see.

“There are five hundred gold pieces inside,” Grant said, indicating the purse in his hand. “And it’s all yours.”

A low chuckle escaped the bandit’s lips as he tightened the grip on his cutlass. He took a step closer, eyeing the heavy purse in Grant’s hand, but the nobleman drew his hand back.

“Once I have your word that you’ll let us go,” Grant said pointedly.

“Now that’s a generous offer,” the bandit said after a long moment. “Tell you what, you hand over that gold and leave all of your valuables behind, and we’ll let you walk out of here.”

“I have your word?” Grant asked cautiously. “You’ll let us go?”

“Of course,” the bandit said, placing his crossed fingers over his heart, “On my honor as a bandit, you have my word that you and the other sods will be free to go.”

Grant suspected that the bandit was toying with him, but he saw no other option but to play along and assume the role of a frightened villager desperately trying to bargain for his life. The longer he could keep up the charade, the harder it would be for the bandits to realize that their prey wasn’t as helpless as they thought, and the longer it would take for them to recover from that blunder.

Grant glanced briefly at Lucy out of the corner of his eye. She gave him a subtle nod.

 _Now or never._ “Very well,” Grant sent the purse flying towards the bandit with an underhanded toss. “Catch!”

The bandit snatched the purse in mid-air and gave it a fond squeeze, savoring the weight of all that gold in his hand. A wide grin spread across his face as he looked inside and saw the glint of gold.

“All right,” Grant said, eyeing the bandit warily, “You have what you wanted.” Grant wrapped an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and started to lead her away. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Not quite,” the bandit interjected, pointing at Grant and the two merchants. “You three sods can go, but the women stay here.”

“Now wait a minute,” Grant protested, “That’s not what we…”

“I said that you could go, aye,” The bandit agreed, “Provided that you leave behind _all_ of your gold and valuables.”

The bandit pointed towards the women with his cutlass. “ _Valuables_ include your _women_.”

Lucy stepped forward with her turret pistol in hand.

“I don’t think so,” Lucy said coldly as she raised the weapon, aimed, and fired. The purse exploded in the bandit’s hand, scattering gold coins in all directions as the bullet pierced the money bag and hit the bandit in the chest. The bullet slammed into him with such force that it sent him flying through the air like a ragdoll. Rays of sunlight shined across the coins and filled the air with a dazzling display of sparkling color as the bandit’s body hit the ground with a dull thud.

 _“_ What the?!” yelped another bandit in surprise. _“SHOOT HER!”_

Two of the bandits unslung their flintlock rifles, but Lucy gunned them down before they could bring their weapons to bear.

“ _Damn it! You’re gonna pay for that, you bitch!_ ”

Lucy stepped back to seek cover behind the remains of the coach while she reloaded her pistol. She spared a quick glance in Grant’s direction. The look on her face told him everything he needed to know. He immediately scooped up the fallen bandit’s weapon, hefted it with one hand to check its weight and balance, and assumed a combat stance.

 

“ _You’ll have to get through me first!_ ” Grant declared boldly.

A derisive chuckle went up from the bandits.

“Have it your way then, _Muppet_!” Snarled the closest bandit as he swung his rusty longsword at Grant’s head. Grant deflected the blow with ease. The bandit slashed at him again, but this time Grant caught the blade, twisted it in the bandit’s grip, and sent it flying through the air.

“ _What in the bloody?!_ ” was all the bandit managed to say before Grant decked him across the jaw with the cutlass’ cup-shaped guard. The blow knocked the bandit unconscious and sent him toppling to the ground. Grant smiled slightly in satisfaction even as a second and third bandit came at him with their longswords. Sweat started to pepper Grant’s forehead, and he could hear the beating of his heart, but he remained calm as old combat instincts took over.

Years ago when Grant and his brother Donald were still boys, their father had commanded them to be trained in the arts of swordsmanship. They were the heirs of the great and noble Fairfax family, and they would inherit rich lands, vast fortunes, and a renowned family legacy that would set them well above most of the other noble families. This fact alone would earn them the admiration and acclaim of some, and the scorn and envy of others including bandits, brigands, outlaws, and even some of their peers among Albion’s nobility. Thus the Fairfax brothers were trained and prepared to defend themselves and the Fairfax name.

As Grant dueled with the bandits, the memory of all those long hours of instruction and practice came back to him. He recalled clearly the words his father had spoken to him and his brother long ago as their instructors drilled them in the finer points of swordsmanship:

 

 

> _“You are a Fairfax, and you have noble blood flowing in your veins. Our family is one of the most affluent and influential in all of Albion, but you must never forget that we live in uncertain times, and all that wealth and prestige will make you a target for criminals that will seek to hold you for ransom. The roads of Albion are full of bandits, highwaymen, and many other dangers. You must be prepared to defend yourselves without hesitation or mercy, for without you there is no future for our family, and thus no future for Albion or its people.”_

The bandits pressed their attack. Grant held his ground, blocking, deflecting, and parrying their clumsy blows until the first bandit presented him with an opening. The bandit overextended his attack and threw himself off-balance, leaving him vulnerable to Grant’s counterattack, which spun him around on his heel and sent him careening into the second bandit with a blow to the back of the head. The bandits collapsed into a tangled heap.

“Get off of me you _manky git_!” The second bandit barked as he tried to shove the first bandit off of him. Grant knocked him out with a swift kick to the side of the head.

At this point Grant’s instructors, his father, and his brother would have urged him to kill the bandits. Donald most especially. If he had been in Grant’s shoes, Donald would have regarded the bandit’s attack as a personal affront to himself and the Fairfax name and would not have hesitated to kill them. Grant chose to spare them, for he was a different sort of man than his father and brother. He held tightly to the belief that all life was sacred, even the lives of these bandits. It was a lesson he had learned from the holy texts of the Temple of Light, and from the tales of the heroes of the Old Kingdom. The greatest heroes, including the Hero of Oakvale, were renowned as avatars of righteousness and pillars of justice and mercy. It was an ideal that Grant modelled his whole life around. Even so, he wasn’t blind to the danger that he, Lucy, and the other passengers were in. With all of the bandits either dead or incapacitated, Grant’s mind turned to thoughts of escape. Doubtless there were more bandits in the woods, and they had very little time before more of them would show up.

“Now’s our chance,” he said, retreating to the coach, “Let’s get out of…”

Suddenly, the woods were filled with the sounds of maniacal laughter.

“ _Heh, heh, heh_ … and just where do you think you’re going?” demanded a voice. The voice was dark and raspy with an edge of menace that sent a cold shiver down Grant’s spine. “You can’t leave now. Not when we’re having so … _much_ … _FUN!_ ”

“Who goes there?” Grant called out uncertainly, trying without success to keep his voice under control as he tried to look everywhere at once. A nervous drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he wondered what was taking Lucy so long. She should have had her pistol reloaded by now. “Show yourself!”

“If you _insist_ …” There was a whisper of rustling leaves, and suddenly the air was split by the sound of a high-pitched scream. It was the merchant’s wife! Grant turned in time to see half a dozen bandits leap from the branches and land behind the coach.

 _Lucy!_ A dreadful foreboding seized him as the sounds of a struggle between Lucy and a pair of bandits wafted up from the coach. There was a sound like a pistol being whipped across someone’s face, followed by a yelp of pain and a bitter curse. Two gunshots zinged out harmlessly into the forest, followed by a short grunt of pain from Lucy.

“The wench almost shot me!” a bandit cried out in disbelief.

“Well, lookie what we ‘ave ‘ere…” another bandit said. “That’s a sweet lil’ piece you got there.”

“Don’t you dare touch that!” Lucy shot back.

“Would ya look at that?” the bandit purred. “This is too posh for the likes ‘o you. I think I’ll keep it for me-self.”

Grant abandoned all caution and dashed towards the coach, but skidded to a halt at the sound of branches breaking overhead. He glanced upwards, saw a shape dropping towards him, and instinctively jumped back in time to avoid being cut in half by Grinner’s massive cleaver. Grant raised his sword to a guard position and eyed the new adversary. Grinner was a tall, lanky man that stood a head-and-a-half taller than most of his men. He had a long, lean face with hollow cheeks, a thin hooked nose, bushy eyebrows, a large and prominent square chin, and the vilest grin that Grant had ever seen. It was enormous! Far too enormous for his pinched face. And it was full of yellow teeth that had been filed into sharp points. A mask covered the upper half of his face and scalp, leaving only his cold pale eyes exposed for the world to see. He wore what may have once been a nobleman’s overcoat, but the once fine garment was covered by so many patches that it looked more like a crude piece of jester’s motley.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, _Muppet_ ,” Grinner said merrily. “I can’t remember the last time that someone actually gave my men a challenge.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Grant said, “but if you lay one hand on Lucy, I’ll give you and your men more of a challenge then you bargained for!”

Grinner’s eyebrows went up. “Is that so?”

Just then Grinner’s henchmen emerged from behind the coach with their prisoners in tow. First came a bandit with a broken nose and a blood-smeared upper lip, probably the one that Lucy pistol-whipped, leading the merchant’s wife. Her hands were bound behind her back, and her head was bowed low in submission as she was led before the coach’s broken remains and forced to her knees. Grant could see tears streaming down her grief-stricken face. He feared the worst for her husband. Lucy was likewise led into view with her hands bound behind her back, but unlike the merchant’s wife, she was still struggling defiantly against her captors. One of the bandits made the mistake of trying to fondle her.

“Get your filthy hands off of me!” she said, as she stomped her heel into the bandit’s foot. The bandit let out a short yelp of pain, hopping on his good foot while cradling the injured foot in his hands. Lucy drove a knee into his crotch. The bandit collapsed onto the ground clutching the battered organ between his legs. Overwhelmed by pain, the man curled into the fetal position and squealed like a piglet. The other bandits began to laugh hysterically.

“ _Heh, heh, heh_ … _Wow!_ She’s a fiery one, ain’t she?” Grinner hooted in delight.

“That’s enough!” A pair of hands seized Lucy roughly by the arm and yanked her back, but she slammed her forehead into the bandit’s nose. The bandit, in turn, yanked her by the hair, slapped her hard across the face, and forced her to her knees. There was a glint of gilded metal and ivory at the bandit’s side, and Grant recognized the pistol he had given to Lucy. The miserable git had taken it and claimed if for himself.

“Stupid wench!” the bandit growled as he wiped the blood from his chin.

Grant’s face twisted into a mask of fury. “ _You Son-of-a-Hobbe!_ ”

Blind with rage, Grant lunged forward with his cutlass, but Grinner seized him by the wrist and wrenched back his sword arm.

“ _Aha, ha, ha, ha! Look at you go!_ ” Grinner jeered as he lifted Grant off his feet and casually tossed him back. Grant landed on his back and rolled once in the dirt. Moments later he rose to his feet, brushed the dirt from his face, and glared at Grinner with narrowed eyes.

“That’s it! _That’s_ the look I want to see!” Grinner beamed. “What do you say we raise the stakes?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s simple,” Grinner said, cocking his head in Lucy’s direction. “ _You_ want to save your little girlfriend over there … and _I_ want to have a little fun.”

Grinner snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were ringed in by his henchmen. Grant gazed warily at the bandits surrounding them. He expected them to rush him all at once, but they just stood there with their weapons in hand, all sporting the same hideous wide grin as their boss. Grinner’s henchmen wouldn’t interfere, but neither would they allow Grant to escape.

“So let’s play, ‘Heroes and Villains’. You get to be the hero trying to rescue the damsel in distress, and I get to be the villain trying to stop you. If you win, I let you and your girlfriend live and go free. If I win, then your girlfriend stays here with me and my men, and I add another patch to my royal raiment … _from your hide_.”

Grant felt the pit of his stomach tighten as he looked at the patches on Grinner’s coat and realized that they weren’t just made from scraps of fabric. Many of them had been made from pieces of human skin! Grant swallowed hard to force the lump in his throat down as he tried to count the number of patches. There were dozens of them! Some were pale, some dark, some with moles, and some even had freckles on them. Every single one had been taken from a different victim. Whoever this bandit was, he was completely unlike any Grant had ever heard or read of before.

“ _Who are you?_ ” Grant asked, the words coming out as little more than a whisper.

“How kind of you to ask,” Grinner said, swinging his cleaver through the air with a flourish and giving him a theatrical bow, “The name is Grinner. And these fine fellows you see before you are the Smiling Bandits, the finest bunch of amoral thieving scoundrels, scallywags, and cutthroats you’ll ever have the pleasure to meet.”

A wave of laughter rippled among the bandits. All were smiling fiendishly at Grant, and there was a gleam of bloodlust in their eyes. They wanted a show, and Grant had no other choice but to give them one. His only hope now would be to defeat Grinner and force him to yield. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had left. Grant shrugged off his coat, took the cutlass in both hands, raised the weapon and pointed it squarely at Grinner’s chest as he eased himself into a dueling stance.

“C’mon, _Muppet_!” Grinner beckoned with a crook of his finger. “Show me what you’ve got!”

Grant rushed at him.

Grinner met the attack head-on with a downward slash. As cutlass and cleaver met, Grant was caught off-guard by the strength of the attack. The blow sent a jolt down his arm. _He’s strong! He hits like a hammer!_ It was all he could do to block the bandit’s attack. Grant staggered back a couple of paces. Grinner pressed his attack, pouncing with the speed and grace of a cat, something which Grant didn’t think was possible for a man of his size. The two men continued to circle each other, trading blow for blow. The henchmen hooted, hollered, and cheered their boss on. At the same time they pelted Grant with insults and obscene gestures.

Grant stepped away from his opponent. He was drenched in sweat, his breaths came in ragged and shallow gasps, and his arms were numb from Grinner’s hammer-blows. Grinner, by contrast, had hardly broken a sweat. He still had that hideous grin on his face, and he was laughing to himself as he and Grant danced around each other. Grant couldn’t understand it. By all rights, _he_ should have had the advantage here. Grinner’s cleaver was shorter and heavier than Grant’s cutlass, and Grant had been trained by the best instructors money could buy. One of his instructors had even been a champion of the Crucible, the massive five-tiered combat arena built into the side of the mountain at Westcliff.

 _He’s too quick and too strong._ Grant thought to himself as he continued to circle his opponent.

The wide grin on the bandit’s face began to sour. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got.”

“I’m just getting warmed up.” Grant bravely boasted though it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“ _Ooohhh_ … Just getting warmed up are we?” Grinner chortled as he called Grant’s bluff. “Well then, why don’t we skip the warmups and go straight to the main event?”

Grinner let out a roar of pure bloodlust that had Grant shaking in his boots. Suddenly, the bandit was a blur. Time seemed to stand still for half a heartbeat, and in that split-second, Grant looked into Grinner’s red-rimmed eyes and saw that his opponent had gone completely mad. Spittle and saliva rained down on Grant’s haggard face as the bandit’s fang-filled mouth stretched into a horrifying visage of rage and bloodlust.

“ _GRANT! LOOK OUT!_ ” Lucy screamed.

Grant’s mind snapped back to attention, and the young nobleman instinctively raised his cutlass in the nick of time to check Grinner’s blow. The blow sent Grant reeling, but Grinner kept coming, pressing his attack with the fury of a crazed berserker. “ _What’s the matter, Muppet? I thought you were going to give me and my men more of a challenge than we bargained for?_ ”

Grant’s mind and body went numb under the weight of Grinner’s onslaught. He gave more and more ground, letting the bandit push him closer and closer towards the ring of henchmen. Grant glanced back and saw that he was just within reach of one of Grinner’s henchmen. He skidded to a halt.

“ _Or am I just too much for you to handle?!_ ” Grinner grasped the cleaver in both hands and brought it down with all of his strength. Grant raised the blade in a feint, but then suddenly dropped down onto his heels and rolled to the side. The unfortunate henchman standing behind him had just enough time to gasp before he was cut in two from shoulder to groin. For half a heartbeat the heavy rusted cleaver stuck fast to the bandit’s body.

It was the chance Grant had been waiting for.

Spinning around on his heel, Grant slapped Grinner’s wrist with the flat of his blade. Grinner let go of the cleaver. With his opponent disarmed, Grant set the edge of his blade against the soft skin of the bandit’s throat. The smile on Grinner’s face disappeared as he rolled his eyes downward and stared at the gleaming blade that was now poised to spill his life’s blood.

“ _Yield!_ The duel is mine.” Grant said in triumph. “If you let us go now, I promise that I will spare your life, and the lives of your men.”

A long moment passed, but Grinner said nothing. He just stood there still as a statue, almost as if he was waiting for something. _What’s going on?_ Grant thought, furrowing his brow in bewilderment. _Why hasn’t he yielded?_

The bandit’s smile returned. A warning bell went off in the back of Grant’s mind. He realized too late that he had made a grave miscalculation and completely misjudged his opponent. This wasn’t an honorable duel between noblemen in Bowerstone; this was a duel to the death, and Grant had just revealed that he would not kill his opponent. Just as this revelation dawned on him, Grant felt a massive hand close around his wrist and squeeze like a vice. Grant clenched his teeth and winced, trying desperately to wrench himself free, but Grinner held him in a grip of steel.

“Yield? _Aha, ha, ha, ha!_ ” Grinner laughed full in Grant’s face and glared at him with utter contempt. “ _You should have killed me!_ ”

Lucy screamed as Grinner let loose with a hard right to Grant’s jaw. Grant blacked out as the bandit pummeled him with multiple punches that split his lower lip wide open. Grant could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Lucy continued to scream, demanding that Grinner stop, but the bandit turned a deaf ear to her pleas. He drove his knee hard into Grant’s abdomen, knocking the wind out of his lungs in a great whoosh. Grant dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. Tears of pain streamed from his eyes as he desperately tried to suck in air.

“Well, _Muppet_ , it’s been fun,” Grinner said, wrenching his rusted cleaver from the henchman’s corpse. He stomped towards his intended victim and glared down at him. “But the fun’s over.”

“ _NO!_ ” Lucy cried as the bandit raised the cleaver over his head. Realizing that his death was near, and that he could do nothing to stop it, Grant said a silent prayer in his mind begging for forgiveness for his failure to protect Lucy. Clenching his eyes shut, Grant readied himself to face death.

“ _FRED BLOGGS!_ ” a voice boomed out from the woods just as Grinner was about to deliver the deathblow. A collective gasp went up from the henchmen that was followed by a terrible hush. Even the wind fell silent as the name of Fred Bloggs echoed through the woods.

Death did not come for Grant Fairfax.

For a moment he dared not to hope that his prayer had been answered, but when he opened his eyes he could not believe what he was seeing. The Smiling Bandits were just standing there, literally shaking in their boots, looking like they had just seen a ghost. Grant smelled the rank odor of someone pissing themselves.

 _What’s going on?_ Grant wondered.

 

The silence was shattered by Grinner.

“ _WHO SAID THAT?!_ ” he roared furiously.

The henchmen took a reflexive step back. The merchant’s wife whimpered softly to herself, and even Lucy found herself trembling in the face of such unbridled rage.

“Who the hell is Fr―” Was all she managed to say before a grubby hand suddenly covered her mouth.

“ _Shut it, girl!_ ” The bandit hissed softly into her ear.

Anger flashed in Lucy’s eyes. She was about to bite the bandit’s hand and demand to know who this Fred Bloggs was, but there was something in the bandit’s countenance that stopped her short. His face had gone completely white, his forehead was peppered by a cold sweat, and his rheumy eyes were as wide as boiled eggs.

“ _Do you want to get us all killed?_ ” he whispered.

“ _OWN UP! WHO SAID IT?!”_ Grinner roared at the woods around him. He was pacing inside the ring of bandits like a wild animal locked in its cage, stomping the ground and kicking up dirt with every step. “ _SHOW YOURSELF SO THAT I CAN RIP OUT YOUR ENTRAILS AND MAKE YOU EAT THEM!_ ”

“Fred Bloggs.” the voice said, much closer this time.

Lucy glanced towards the sound and was surprised to see a lone figure standing before them. He appeared to be in his early thirties, was a little taller than Grant, and had thick legs and strong arms that rippled with cords of lean muscle. His hands were as tough as old tree roots, and would have made a butcher envious. He wore steel-plated leather vambraces, heavy steel-toed leather boots, dark wide-legged trousers, a wide leather belt held fast by a massive brass medallion with an ornate tree carved on it, a sleeveless cream-colored tunic that exposed part of his broad chest, a sleeveless coat lined with a thick dark-brown fur of some kind, and a dark-green half-cloak that covered the left side of his body. His face was concealed by the hood of his cloak, but there was no hiding the enormous brown shaggy beard that spilled over the bronze clasp of his half-cloak.

A blood vessel throbbed visibly in the side of Grinner’s forehead at the sight of the stranger. “W _HO THE HELL ARE YOU?!_ ”

The stranger pulled back the hood of his cloak. His shaggy beard covered the entire lower half of his face, but Lucy could still discern strong cheekbones, a straight nose, and a pair of scars that stretched across his right cheek just below the eye. His hair was long and shaggy like his beard. He kept it tied back in a loose ponytail.

“Your executioner,” The stranger said, glaring at Grinner with cold dark eyes. His voice was deep and gruff, and he had an accent that was heavy with the flavors of the deep forests of Albion’s southernmost regions. “The Sheriff of Bowerstone has issued a warrant for you and the rest of your gang for the crimes of: loitering, littering, drunken misconduct, public indecency, harassment, extortion, trespassing, vandalism, theft, kidnapping, rape, assault, attempted murder, murder, and one count of impersonating an officer of the peace.”

A corner of Grinner’s mouth briefly curled upwards upon hearing the last charge. _That_ had been a particularly _fun_ day for him and his men, and the memory gave him a chuckle despite himself.

“So it’s true then,” the stranger scoffed, “I had my suspicions that the sudden increase in the reward for your head had something to do with ‘impersonating an officer of the peace’. Especially given that the Sheriff of Bowerstone is a stingy maggot.”

“So,” Grinner said with contempt, “You’re a _bounty hunter_.”

“An _adventurer_ ,” the stranger corrected. “The name’s Connor, and I’ve come a long way to collect that ugly head of yours, Fred Bloggs.”

“SHUT IT!” The bandit leader roared, “MY NAME … _IS_ … _GRINNER!_ ” He bit out the last words for emphasis.

“Your name is of no consequence to me, _Fred_ ,” Connor countered sarcastically. “Because you and all your men will soon be nothing more than a bunch of heads rotting on spikes over Bowerstone’s main gate.”

“ _GET HIM!_ ” Grinner ordered his men. The words were barely out of his mouth when Connor swept aside his cloak and revealed the small repeating crossbow he had concealed underneath.

“ _Find some cover!_ ” One of the bandits shouted too late.

Connor raised the weapon, aimed, and fired. The crossbow thrummed four times in quick succession. Four bolts zipped through the air and found their marks: a pair of bandits carrying flintlock rifles. Matching geysers of blood erupted from their chests as they collapsed to the ground dead.

“ _QUICK! GET HIM BEFORE HE RELOADS!_ ” Grinner shouted, stepping towards the safety afforded by the coach’s remains. The henchmen brandished their weapons over their heads and charged. Connor set the crossbow aside to go hand-to-hand with the bandits. Lucy was surprised when Connor reached over his shoulder and drew a woodcutting axe. It was more farm implement than weapon; a tool used to split logs for firewood. But as Lucy and the Smiling Bandits would soon discover, even the most humble of tools could become a deadly instrument of death in the right hands.

The slaughter began.

 

Grant watched with equal parts horror and morbid fascination as Connor methodically cut the bandits down one by one. Every movement was precise, coldly calculated to deliver the maximum amount of damage while expending only as much energy as necessary. The battle was short, brutal, and completely lopsided. When the carnage stopped, four bandits were dead, their corpses scattered across the forest path, and Connor looked as though he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Two stray thoughts clicked in the back of Grant’s mind. The first was: _He fights like a hero._ The second thought, coming hard on the heels of the first was: _Haven’t I seen him from somewhere before?_

“ _WHAT ARE YOU STANDING AROUND FOR?!”_ Grinner roared at his men. _“GET HIM!_ ”

For a moment Grant wondered who Grinner was yelling at, but then saw that the bandits he beaten earlier had now regained consciousness. They looked at Connor, at the bodies of their fallen brethren, then back again at their boss. A solitary glance at Grinner’s patchwork coat, and a threatening look from Grinner himself was enough to silence any objections that may have been brewing in their minds. They would rather take their chances with the adventurer than with Grinner.

 “We’re gonna make you pay for that, you filthy bandit-killer!” declared the first bandit as he swung his longsword at Connor’s head. Connor ducked under the blade and swept the hapless bandit off his feet. The bandit’s world twisted at a crazy angle, his back to the ground and his eyes towards the canopy above. He caught a glimpse of a severed leg flying through the air with a river of blood trailing in its wake. His mind registered that it was his own leg, but before he could open his mouth to scream Connor brought the axe down in one smooth motion, crushing the bandit’s ribcage and cleaving his heart in half.

The bandit was dead before he hit the ground.

“ _NO!_ ” Cried the second bandit.

“It was his turn to buy the drinks this weekend!” Growled the third bandit.

They came at Connor from both sides, trying to catch him in a pincer movement. Connor surprised them by letting go of his axe and sidling out of the way of their attack. As the bandits’ blades came together, Connor grabbed them each by the back of the neck, and smashed their heads together. The two bandits wobbled on their feet as Connor plucked his axe from the dead bandit’s ribcage, and killed the second bandit with an upward swing that sent his body flying into the air. Without missing a beat, Connor spun the weapon over his head to maintain its momentum, turned on his heel, and swung the axe straight between the other bandit’s eyes.

“ _BEHIND YOU!_ ” Grant shouted in warning.

Connor reacted instantly, yanking the axe from the bandit’s ruined face by the handle’s shoulder and throat just in time to avoid a downward slash from Grinner’s cleaver. The adventurer took a long step back and locked eyes with the man he had come to kill. A corner of Grinner’s mouth curled upwards.

“I’ve gotta admit,” Grinner confessed, “You’re about the most merciless and cold-hearted killer I’ve ever met. Just the sort of bloody bastard I fancy to welcome into my gang … _or I would have_ … if you hadn’t _murdered_ most of them.”

“I don’t work for scum,” Connor said coldly.

“Pity.”

Grinner’s mouth stretched into a hideous grin, the rims of his eyes turned red, and he began to laugh maniacally as he swung his cleaver down with all of his strength. Grant felt the force of the blow and winced as he recalled what it felt like to be on the receiving end. But as he rose to his feet, Grant was stunned to see that Grinner’s attack hadn’t budged Connor in the slightest. The mad grin on Grinner’s face vanished.

“Is that the best you can do?” Connor asked with contempt.

Grinner’s mouth twisted into a grimace. He growled with feral rage and hacked at the adventurer with his cleaver. Connor countered with an upward thrust that deflected Grinner’s blade with such force that the bandit lost his footing and staggered back. A wide swath of blood splashed across the ground as Connor’s axe sliced across Grinner’s chest. Grinner jumped back and slid onto one knee. He clutched his chest with his free hand. Blood seeped between his fingers, but one glance was enough to assure him that the wound was not mortal.

“ _Heh, heh, heh_ … _not bad_ ,” Grinner said as he rose to his feet.

“I can do better.” Connor countered as he flicked the blood off of his axe. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

“Sounds _fun_ … But I have a better idea.”

 

“No, no, no, please,” The merchant’s wife pleaded softly, “Please don’t kill me. I’m begging you. Please don’t…”

“Shut it!” Growled her captor as he placed the edge of his longsword against her slender neck. Tears streaked down the young woman’s face, and she began to whimper softly to herself, but she held her tongue when she felt the cold metal pressed softly against her throat. Lucy likewise held her tongue as her captor placed the edge of his longsword against her neck.

“That’s right, Love,” the bandit purred softly into Lucy’s ear, “Just the way I like it: _nice and quiet_.”

Lucy felt the bandit’s hand slide slowly down to her chest. “ _Ooohhh_ … you’ve got yourself a nice pair … _heh, heh, heh_.”

Images flashed in Lucy’s mind of her putting a bullet in the bandit’s eye, but she forced it down with the near-overwhelming feeling of revulsion washing over her as the bandit brazenly fondled her. She had to focus on getting her hands freed from her restraints. Fortunately, marksmanship wasn’t the only thing her brother had taught her. He also showed her the best ways to free herself from restraints. It wasn’t especially difficult, but it could take time. Especially if your hands were tied behind your back.

Anger and disgust flashed in Grant’s eyes at the sight of Lucy being molested.

“ _Get your_ _filthy…_ ” Grant growled softly, tightening his grip on the cutlass and stepping forward. He went no further than a single pace before Grinner waved his forefinger at him.

“ _Uh, uh, uh_ …” Grinner chided, “Don’t take another step closer.”

Grant stopped in his tracks, eyeing the bandits with an impotent rage that continued to smolder. Lucy was grateful for the distraction since it diverted the bandit’s attention and gave her free rein to focus on the restraints without fear of discovery.

 _C’mon, Grant._ She thought to herself. _Just keep them distracted a little longer._

She gave Grant as reassuring of a look as she could muster, but he continued to eye her with a mixture of concern, worry, and fear for her safety and well-being.

“ _Very good_ ,” Grinner said in approval, “Now, I want you to…”

Grinner trailed off as Connor moved closer.

 _What in the Void is he doing?_ Lucy wondered as Connor brushed past Grant and sauntered closer.

“Didn’t you hear me you daft twit?” Grinner asked, stepping closer to his men, “Take another step and they get it.”

The bandits pressed their swords a little harder into the women’s throats for emphasis. Connor came to a stop and rested his axe over his right shoulder. “Go ahead.”

Everyone blinked in surprise. For a moment they wondered whether or not if they had heard him correctly. Grant, Lucy, and the merchant’s wife were the first to realize that Connor was perfectly serious. He didn’t care about the hostages or their lives, and he was perfectly willing to sacrifice them if it brought him closer to collecting the bounty on Grinner and his men. Grant and the merchant’s wife’s eyes widened in horror with that realization. Lucy shot Connor a look of pure loathing. It took the bandits a little longer to come to the same conclusion, but when they did, their eyes widened and their jaws dropped in disbelief.

“What?” Grinner asked stupidly.

“I said, _‘Go ahead’_.” Connor replied in annoyance. He hated having to repeat himself.

“Now wait just a minute!” Grant bit out, as he grabbed Connor by the shoulder and yanked him around to face him. “Just what the blazes do you mean by, _‘Go ahead’_?!”

Connor looked at him like he was the most stupid man in all of Albion. “I’m sorry, what part of ‘ _go ahead_ ’ didn’t you understand? Was it the ‘ _go_ ’? Or the ‘ _ahead_ ’ that confused you? Or are the two words too much for you to comprehend when they’re brought together?”

“What are you talking about?”

Connor slapped Grant’s hand off his shoulder and got right up into his face. “Then how about this: _‘Go ahead and kill her’_? Is that better?”

“Better? _Better?!_ ” Grant was beside himself, “ _You can’t possibly be serious!_ ”

“ _Oh_ … but I _am_.”

“Didn’t you hear what they said? ‘Take another step closer and they get it’? That means they’re going to kill them!”

“And what’s that to me?”

“And don’t think we won’t do it either,” piped up the bandit holding Lucy hostage, “We’ll kill ‘em, and we’ll kill ‘em til they’re good and dead!”

“Then hurry it up and get it over with already.” Connor shot back in annoyance, “I don’t know her, or the other one that can’t seem to stop weeping, so they mean absolutely nothing to me.”

“What kind of a monster are you?” Grant asked aghast.

“ _Monster_? Oh, quit being so dramatic about it.”

“’ _Dramatic’_?! You think I’m being ‘ _dramatic’_?! That’s my girlfriend’s life that you’re dismissing you heartless bastard!”

“And what you don’t seem to understand is that this isn’t a rescue mission. I was contracted to carry out the execution of Fred Bloggs and all his…”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ” Grinner roared, “ _MY NAME IS…_ ”

“Is ‘Grinner’,” Connor interrupted, “Yes, we’ve already heard that rubbish. So put a sock in it already! And by the way, it still makes no difference to me whether you kill the hostages or not; because in the end, I’m still going to kill every last one of you scumbags.”

“ _You_ …” one of the bandits chattered in disbelief, “You’re a _nutter_! You know that?! A complete _nutter_!”

“And _you_ ,” Connor said, narrowing his eyes and glancing past the bandit. He spotted a familiar shadow of movement in the vegetation behind them. “Are a _dead man_.”

Lucy heard a low rumble, something less than a snarl, and the sound of feet padding towards them from behind. The bandits must have heard it too, because they turned just as Beast leaped onto the bandit holding the merchant’s wife hostage. The dog snapped his jaws around the bandit’s sword arm. The bandit screamed as Beast sank his fangs deep into his flesh. The dog pulled with all of his strength, yanking the bandit and merchant’s wife right off their feet.

“ _GET HIM OFF OF ME! GET HIM OFF!_ ” the bandit screamed as Beast shook his head from side-to-side and tore the bandit’s arm to bloody shreds. The merchant’s wife broke free from her captor as he desperately tried to get the dog off of him, but Beast let go of the man’s arm and went straight for his throat. With a single twist of his head, Beast tore half his throat out. The sight of blood gushing from the torn ruins of the bandit’s throat were too much to bear, and so the merchant’s wife fainted.

“ _ARGH! BLEEDING HELL!_ ” the second bandit balked. Beast turned towards him and growled. The dog’s muzzle was drenched in blood, and small bits of flesh and gore were still hanging between his bared fangs.

“ _Time to put you down, you vicious mutt!_ ” The bandit reeled his arm back to slash at the dog with his longsword. With his attention focused solely on the threat in front of him, the bandit failed to recognize the more imminent threat standing right next to him, because it was at this moment that Lucy freed herself.

She reached for the dagger sheathed on his belt, and buried the blade deep into the back of the outlaw’s thigh. The bandit clenched his teeth and growled in pain as Lucy gave the blade a twist. The bandit bit out a curse, then smacked her across the face with a backhand blow that knocked her to the ground. The bandit yanked the dagger from his thigh, tossed the blood-soaked blade to the side, and glared at Lucy with murder in his eyes. He raised his longsword over his head. But before he could skewer her, a hand reached from behind and grabbed the bandit’s ugly face just as a long curved blade sprouted from his chest. The longsword slipped harmlessly from the bandit’s hands, his limbs fell limp at his sides, and he died. The bandit’s body slipped to the ground. Lucy was surprised to see Grant standing over her.

“Are you all right?” Grant asked, offering a hand to her. Tears of relief came unbidden to Lucy’s eyes, and she grinned widely as Grant helped her back to her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck and embraced him. “I am now.”

The air was split by a sharp yelp of pain. The couple turned to see what was happening. Beast was laying on his side with his tongue hanging limply from his open mouth. His master was down on one knee, supporting himself with his axe in one hand while clutching a wounded shoulder with the other. Grinner rumbled with malevolent laughter as his gaze fell upon Grant and Lucy.

“Well, _Muppet_ … looks like it’s just you, me, and your little girlfriend now.” Grinner said, stomping closer. Grant instinctively pushed Lucy behind him and wrenched the cutlass free from the bandit’s body.

“Get behind me!” he said, just as Grinner went on the offensive. The blades clashed. Grant grunted under the weight of the blow.

“I’m going to make you pay for all the trouble you’ve caused me today, _Muppet_!” Grinner said in a low voice. The bandit reeled his arm over his shoulder to strike, but as he did so Lucy dropped to the ground beside the dead bandit, retrieved her turret pistol, and flicked the safety off. There was no time to aim.

She fired from the hip.

Grinner let out a yelp of surprise. The bullet had blown a gaping hole through his hand, and sent the rusted cleaver spinning through the air. It landed blade-first in the ground some twenty feet away. Before Grinner could let out a curse, Grant smashed the cutlass’ cup-shaped guard right into the bandit’s nose. The blow knocked him senseless. The world started to spin out of control as Grant pummeled him with the sword’s guard over and over again, knocking out a few of the bandit’s pointed teeth, making his already hideous mouth even more gruesome-looking than before. With one final blow that broke his nose, Grinner collapsed against the coach and lay still.

Grant stepped back. He was drenched in sweat, every muscle in his body ached, his lip was swollen, his face bruised and battered, he was breathing hard, and he could no longer stand without supporting himself upon his sword. Lucy was at his side instantly, wrapping her arm around him for support. “Grant? Are you all right?”

“Not really,” he admitted, “But I will be … _I think_.”

That got a chuckle out of her.

“Oh, Grant,” Lucy sighed, “What am I going to do with you?”

A low groan escaped Grinner’s lips as he slowly came to. He turned his head slowly, squinting hard against the throbbing pain in his head. He licked the blood from his lips. Lucy gestured towards him. “What about him?”

Grant looked at him for a long moment. “I’ll handle this.”

There was something in the set of Grant’s face that told her he had come to a hard decision. Lucy had learned long ago not to like that look, because it usually meant that he was about to do something foolhardy. “Grant…”

“I know what you’re thinking, Lucy, but I promise you that everything will be all right.”

“You’ve said that before…”

Grant flashed her a grin from the corner of his mouth and gave her a thumbs up to reassure her. The gesture, as always, failed to put her at ease. Lucy checked her pistol to make sure it was loaded just in case. Grinner finally came around to full consciousness and saw the tip of Grant’s cutlass pointed at the apple of his throat. The two men locked gazes with one another. “ _Ugh_ … What are you waiting for, _Muppet_? Hurry up and finish me off.”

“No.”

Grinner sighed in disgust. Using the coach’s remains to brace himself, Grinner slowly pushed himself up onto his feet. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The world spun around him and brought a fresh wave of nausea to his stomach. Grant kept the tip of his sword pointed at Grinner’s throat. It seemed clear that the bandit was in no shape to fight, but Grant decided to err on the side of caution and stepped back, keeping himself just out of the bandit’s reach. He didn’t want to endure a repeat of the beating he received from Grinner.

“Well then … what are you waiting for?” Grinner asked. “A fancy note engraved with my apologies on it or something?”

“Something like that.”

Grinner eyed him with suspicion. “What are you going on about?”

“When you challenged me to a game of ‘Heroes and Villains’, you said that if I won you would spare our lives and let us go free. Well, the game is over. You’ve lost, and your life now rests in the palm of my hand. But if you remember what I said to you earlier, I promised that if you yielded I would spare your life and the lives of your men. Sadly, I can’t do anything for your men now, but I’m still willing to spare your life … but there is a price.”

“A price?”

Grant confirmed it with a nod. “Consider your options,” he gestured towards Connor, who was busy administering a special potion to heal Beast’s wounds. “You can either take your chances with Connor, who’s quite eager to relieve your neck of the burden of carrying your head… _or_ …”

“Or _what_?” Grinner growled with annoyed impatience.

“ _Or_ …” Grant emphasized with renewed conviction, “You can honor your pledge not only to let Lucy and I go, but also give me your solemn oath that, from this day forth, you will never again take up banditry for the rest of your life. If you do … I give you my word that I will spare your life and let you go free.”

Lucy shook her head in dismay. _I knew it! I knew he was going to do something stupid!_ She also couldn’t help but notice that Connor had tensed when he heard what Grant said. _I wonder what he thinks of this?_

“Pull the other one.” Grinner scoffed.

“No, I really am being serious,” Grant said with a perfectly straight face, “If you swear to me that you will never again take up banditry for the rest of your life, I will let you go.”

“ _Grant_ …” Lucy started to object, but Grant cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“And you expect me to just believe you?” Grinner asked sarcastically. “I wasn’t born yesterday, _Muppet_.”

“Of course not … but I assume that you have heard of the Fairfax family?”

“So you’re one of those posh twits then? What of it?”

Grant ignored the insult. “Then can I also assume that you’re familiar with our reputation?”

Grant took Grinner’s silence as acquiescence. “When a Fairfax gives his word, he keeps it no matter what. So I swear to you now, upon my honor as a Fairfax, that if you give me your word that you will never take up a life of banditry again, you will go free.”

“So, all I have to do is give you my word?”

Grant nodded in agreement.

“And … _you’ll let me go_?”

“Yes.”

“You should just kill me.” Grinner said, snorting in derision.

“Swear it to me.” Grant said. “Swear it to me on your life, on your mother’s life, on your father’s life, and on the Lords of Light. Swear to me now, and I promise that you’ll go free.”

An oily grin spread across Grinner’s face. “I swear.”

“Very well,” Grant said, sheathing his weapon, “You’re free to go.”

Grant turned on his heel and strolled off.

“Grant,” Lucy said eyeing Grinner, “This isn’t a very good idea.”

“Maybe … maybe not,” Grant admitted, “But it was the right thing to do.”

“The right thing?” Lucy countered, “Grant, the man is a murderer. You saw that coat of his. Think of all the men and women he’s killed! Do you think that they would call this right or just?”

“Perhaps not. But the man has given me his word, and I believe that everyone has the right to be given the chance to change for the better.”

“Even a man like _him_?!” Lucy retorted.

“Even a man like _him_.”

For a moment, Lucy seriously considered the idea of killing Grinner herself. She could do it too. One simple pull of the trigger, one clean shot to the chest or head, and it would be all over. Neat, clean, and quick. Grant’s belief in the good of humanity be damned, her every instinct screamed that she should do it. In the end she relented. Grant had given the bandit his word, and he would not go back on it. It was a quality Grant possessed that Lucy had learned to adore, and loathe in him. She only hoped that this time, she would not come to loathe him for it.

“I still don’t like it,” Lucy said at last.

“I know.” He placed his arm around her waist and gently embraced her. “Come on Lucy, let’s get out of here.”

The couple had only gone a few paces when a massive shape loomed over them from behind.

“Like I said,” Grinner whispered softly into Grant’s ear as he laid a bloody hand on his shoulder. “ _You should have killed me!_ ”

_THRUM!_

Grinner heard the sound a split second before something slammed into his back. The impact knocked him off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground. Grinner’s eyes went wide at the sight of a quarrel sticking out of his chest. He clenched his teeth and tried to hoist himself onto his feet, but the pain radiating across his upper torso was too much. He collapsed onto one knee. A blossom of deep crimson seeped across his shoulder, staining Grinner’s precious patched coat with blood. Strangely, the sight of blood spreading across his chest brought a smile to his face. Grinner heard the sound of footsteps rushing towards him and looked up to see what it was.

Connor swung with his axe.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still for Grinner. His whole life flashed before his eyes. Every theft, every crime, every murder, and every last patch of skin he flayed from his victims, he remembered it all. And the memories brought a smile to his face.

The dull sheen of Connor’s axe was the last thing Grinner ever saw before his neck was relieved of the burden of carrying his head.

 

Grant stood there in stunned disbelief as a geyser of blood erupted from the stump of Grinner’s neck, bathing Connor in a shower of blood. The headless corpse collapsed to the ground like a tree after being cut down. Lucy silently thanked Connor for saving Grant’s life.

“Why did you do that?!” Grant demanded furiously, “I swore to him that if he gave me his word that he would give up a life of banditry that he would go free! I swore it on my family’s name for Light’s sake!”

Connor shot him a look of scornful patience. “And you _believed_ him?”

“Well, why not?” Grant retorted, “He had given me his word.”

“Fool,” Connor grunted.

“Excuse me?” Grant said incredulously.

Connor didn’t answer him. Instead, he bent over to retrieve the dagger that was still clutched tightly in Grinner’s hand, and tossed it underhanded to land at Grant’s feet. “Take a good long look at that, and tell me exactly how much a bandit’s word of honor is worth.”

Grant swallowed down the retort rising in his throat as he glanced down at the weapon at his feet, realizing that the adventurer was right. Grinner’s word had meant less than nothing, and Grant felt all the more foolish for having put faith in it in the first place.

“If I hadn‘t stepped in, you would be dead right now. Get your head out of your arse, you posh _twit_. They’re bandits! Scum! The whole lot of them! Their word means less than the shite your servants wipe from your bloody arse. You can’t reason or negotiate with them. The only things they understand are strength and violence, and they have neither pity nor mercy for the weak, or the _stupid_.”

He said nothing as he turned away, bent down, picked up Grinner’s severed head, and held it aloft for Grant to see in all of its grisly splendor. As the bandit had lived, so had he died; with an enormous grin on his face. “ _This_ … is the _only_ way to deal with them.”

Grant shrank back from the grisly sight in disgust. Connor ignored him as he pulled a sack from one of the pouches at his belt and proceeded to stuff Grinner’s head inside. “If it’s your precious honor that you’re worried about … _don’t_. When it really comes down to it, your bloody honor isn’t worth a piss. Especially not when it almost gets you killed.”

“Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful to you for saving our lives,” Grant began, “But I’m beginning to see that the bandits were right about you all along. You really are a _nutter_.”

Lucy slapped him for that. “Grant Fairfax! Apologize to him!”

“Apologize? _To him?!_ Lucy, do you hear what you’re saying?! This man was ready to sacrifice you and the other passengers just so that he could step over your corpses for some stupid reward.”

“That’s not true,” Lucy shot back, “He only said those things to distract the bandits so that his dog would have enough time to sneak around and attack them from behind. He wasn’t about to let us be killed.”

Lucy turned and gave the adventurer a meaningful gaze. “Didn’t you?”

Connor took the hint.

“It’s true.” He lied.

“It still doesn’t change the fact that he put your life at risk, Lucy.” Grant countered.

“ _Grant_ …” Lucy said warningly, “ _Apologize_.”

Grant’s eyes flashed with indignation, but he quickly wilted under Lucy’s steely gaze as he realized she was right. There was no cause for him to be so rude to the man that had just saved their lives, even if he found the man’s methods to be questionable at best.

“Yes,” Grant finally admitted, “You’re right of course.”

Grant bowed at the waist in a token of respect. “Thank you for saving our lives, Sir. We owe you a great debt. And … I beg your pardon for judging you so harshly and wrongly.”

 “I don’t need your thanks.” Connor shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I came here for Grinner’s head … _nothing more_.”

“You … are you serious? Don’t need our…?”

Lucy tried to stop him. “ _Grant … don’t_.”

“You heard me,” Connor said, “I don’t need nor want your thanks, so you can just take it back and shove it…” He trailed off as he turned and took a good, long, hard look at Grant.

“Have we met before?” Connor narrowed his eyes and looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time.

Grant blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You seem awfully … _familiar_.”

“I don’t know what the blazes you’re talking about!” Grant objected. But even as he said so, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that Connor somehow seemed familiar to him as well. “I can assure you that if we had ever met, I would be sure to remember it.”

Then Grant suddenly got it. The shaggy beard, the dark green half-cloak, the deep and gruff voice … _He’s the man I ran into from the day before!_ Grant realized with a start.

The memory came back to him. He was already running late for his date with Lucy, and was sprinting down the road towards Bower Lake when he rather foolishly decided to check the time on his pocket watch. By the time he looked up to see where he was going, it was already too late. Unable to stop himself, he plowed straight into Connor and sent the man tumbling to the ground, though he didn’t know it was him at the time. Grant felt a pang of guilt over the incident. It wasn’t just that he had knocked Connor to the ground that made him feel guilty; it was also the fact that he had allowed his desire not to keep Lucy waiting to override his manners.

Grant distinctly remembered apologizing for what happened, but he also remembered that he did so while on the run. Never in a hundred years would Grant have imagined that the man he knocked to the ground that day would be the very same person that would save his and Lucy’s lives. That gave Grant little comfort however, because he also remembered how angry Connor had been at the time.

“Besides, you know what they say about the people of Albion,” he said dismissively while scratching the back of his head. “‘Everyone in Albion looks and sounds alike anyway’.”

Connor’s eyes suddenly flared with recognition as he finally remembered where he had seen Grant before.

“ _You..._ ” A nervous shiver ran down Grant’s back, which as it so happened turned out to be well-warranted when Connor let loose with a hard right to Grant’s jaw. The blow sent Grant sprawling to the ground.

“ _Grant!_ ” Lucy cried. She whirled on the adventurer, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Connor flicked his right hand once and smirked in satisfaction as he gently massaged his knuckles. “Giving this clumsy oaf no less than what he deserves.”

 _CLICK!_ The smirk on Connor’s face vanished at the sight of a six-barreled turret pistol pointed at his head. The hammer was cocked and the weapon was ready to fire. The adventurer froze. A single word escaped Lucy’s lips, “ _Explain_ ”, but she said it with an icy menace that chilled Connor right to the bone.

“It’s all right, Lucy,” Grant groaned as he settled himself onto one elbow and nursed his jaw, “I probably deserved that.”

“To put it mildly,” said Connor. “What kind of a posh twit comes barreling down the road as you please, doesn’t bother to watch where he’s going, bowls right into someone like a bloody lummox, and then just scarpers off without so much as a ‘ _How do you do, Sir’_?!”

“The clumsy sort that’s horribly late for a very important occasion.”

Grant proceeded to relate the events surrounding the first time he met Lucy one year ago, including the shooting gallery. Grant sang praises of Lucy’s prowess in the competition, at the same time denouncing the vendor’s treachery when he altered the rules and starkly refused to hand over the champion’s prize when Lucy still emerged victorious. He further explained that he was supposed to meet Lucy at Bower Lake early the previous morning so that they could spend the day celebrating the first anniversary of that fateful day. As usual, Grant had been running late that morning, and he didn’t wish to try Lucy’s patience one minute longer. So when he accidentally bowled into Connor and knocked him to the ground, he didn’t dare to spare the time he normally would have to ensure that Connor was all right, or to offer him a proper apology or recompense for the misdeed. Lucy chimed in occasionally to confirm the facts of the story. Connor absorbed the tale in silence, but as it came to an end he shifted his attention towards Lucy, gazing at her for a long moment.

Grant started to fidget nervously, uncomfortable with the prolonged silence and the way Connor was looking at Lucy. Before he could say anything to break the silence, it was broken for him. Connor gestured towards Grant with a cock of his head and said, “I’ve come across a lot of lummoxes in my travels, but your boyfriend takes the cake.”

The stolid expression on Connor’s face softened, and a corner of his mouth twisted upwards slightly as he offered the young maiden a bow of his head, “Then again … I think I would’ve done the same if I was keeping someone like _you_ waiting for me.”

Lucy felt heat rise to her cheeks. She wasn’t entirely sure whether she should be infuriated, or flattered by the compliment. Grant cleared his throat loudly. “ _Yes_ … with that said, I believe that I still owe you...”

Beast startled Grant by snapping his jaws at him. The noblemen staggered back, lost his balance, and fell on his rump. Grant’s eyes slammed shut from the impact, and when he opened them again he found himself looking directly into Beast’s burning amber eyes, and a dark muzzle that was inches from his face. The dog bared his fangs and growled at him. Grant flinched away and fell back onto his elbows. He felt the heat of the canine’s growls wash over him like waves on the seashore. Grant swallowed when he saw that the hairs on the back of the dog’s neck and his tail had gone rigid.

“Excuse me,” Grant implored, “But could you do something about your dog?”

Connor crossed his arms over his chest.

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Grant’s face. “Could you, _please,_ do something about your dog?”

Connor twisted his lip and let out a shrill whistle that made Grant want to stuff cotton down his ears. Beast’s ears pricked up at the sound. He kept his fangs bared and continued to growl softly at Grant, but his tail started to wag back and forth slowly. “Beast! _Heel!_ ”

Beast obeyed.

The dog sat on his haunches and didn’t so much as twitch when Grant picked himself up and scraped the dust and dirt off himself. He didn’t like the way Beast was looking at him. “I’m starting to get the impression that he doesn’t like me very much.”

“He doesn’t,” Connor confirmed, “But don’t worry. He won’t harm you now. Not as long as I’m around, and you don’t get too close.”

“I see,” Grant said uneasily.

Connor could make all the reassuring noises he wished about Beast being harmless, but Grant wasn’t about to take his chances. Especially not after witnessing him tear out a man’s throat. Grant kept a wary eye trained on Beast as he slowly crept around him. Beast, in turn, kept his eyes on Grant, watching his every move. He growled softly as he passed by.

“Oh, Grant,” Lucy sighed as she stepped over to his side, “Pull that white feather out of your tail. You heard what Connor said, ‘He won’t hurt you’.”

Lucy stepped closer to Beast, sat on her heels, and offered the dog her open hand.

“Lucy, I really don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Grant said.

“ _Nonsense_ ,” Lucy scoffed, “He won’t hurt me. The truth is that he’s really just a big old softie at heart. Aren’t you boy?”

“No, he’s right,” Connor quickly interjected, “You really shouldn’t get any…”

The shaggy adventurer was in the middle of a step, reaching out with his hand to grasp Lucy and pull her back, when something completely unexpected happened. Beast rose from his haunches, took a few cautious steps towards the offered hand and sniffed it. He sniffed it again, and again. Then to both Connor and Grant’s surprise, the hairs on the back of Beast’s head relaxed, and his tail began to wag with excitement.

 _What in Avo’s name?_ Was the only thought Connor’s mind was capable of as Beast brushed past the offered hand, planted his front paws on Lucy’s shoulders, and proceeded to happily lick her face like it was a lollipop. The air was filled by the delightful sounds of Lucy’s childish giggling, and Grant’s sighs of relief.

“You see?” Lucy said, as she scratched Beast behind the ears, “He’s just a big old softie after all, just like I told you.”

Beast barked in agreement.

Connor could not believe what he was seeing. For the first time, in a very _long_ time, Beast liked someone other than Connor. This came as a complete shock to him, because what Grant and Lucy didn’t know about Beast was that he didn’t like _anyone_. Man, woman, child, other dogs, it made no difference whatsoever. Beast never allowed anyone other than Connor to get close to him, let alone pet him, or show him any sort of affection at all. Those that tried paid a heavy, and often bloody price for it.

Beast had only ever liked two people in his life, and Connor was one of them. Ever since he was a small pup, Beast would growl, snarl, bark, and bite anyone that tried to get close to him including his brothers, sisters, and even his mother. He hated, rather violently, to be touched or petted. It was only by a stroke of luck that Connor had chanced upon the pup and his owner, who was quite anxious to rid himself of the “miserable little beast” as he liked to call him. To everyone’s surprise the pup that hated everyone took an instant liking to Connor, and thus the two of them became inseparable.

Yet now here he was, prancing about with a happy spring to his step that Connor hadn’t seen in Beast since he was a young pup. The stony expression on Connor’s face melted away as he gazed at Lucy, who was now on her feet with a happy grin on her face, still giggling like a little girl at Beast’s exuberance. He saw her in a whole new light now. She wasn’t just some city strumpet with short bronze hair, brilliant green eyes, and a strikingly beautiful face and figure.

 _No_ … she was much more extraordinary than that. Almost as extraordinary as…

“Excuse me? Are you listening?”

Connor blinked. “What?”

Grant gave him a patient look. “As I was saying, I really do feel terrible about what happened yesterday, and I was hoping that I could make amends.”

Connor tore his gaze reluctantly from Lucy and turned to face Grant. “What’d you mean?”

“Well, my family happens to be quite wealthy, and you should be duly compensated. Not just for yesterday’s fiasco, but also for saving our lives. I only have about five hundred gold pieces with me, though it’s currently scattered across the ground at the moment, but it’s yours. Plus whatever sum you wish; if you’d be so kind as to join us for the rest of the journey back to Bowerstone.”

Connor didn’t relish the idea of spending more time around a self-righteous posh twit like Grant Fairfax, but then again it would mean a little extra gold to line his pockets, and he would get to spend a little more time in Lucy’s company. Besides, he would have to return to Bowerstone to collect the bounty on Grinner and the Smiling Bandits anyway. “You have a deal.”

Grant offered his hand. Connor looked down at it skeptically for a moment, then shrugged and clasped the offered hand with his own. The two shook on the deal.

“But before we head off, I have some business here to finish.” Connor unsheathed his axe and gestured towards the bodies scattered all around them.

“Oh! I see,” Grant said as understanding came to him. “‘ _Head off_ ’, how clever.”

Connor gave him a puzzled look, then shrugged and walked off to do his bloody work. He went a few paces, then stopped and turned back to face Grant.

“Don’t you have some work to take care of as well?” he said, indicating that Grant should look behind him. Grant did so, and saw that Lucy was hunched over the merchant’s wife, helping to ease the poor woman to her feet. Grant felt the heat of shame and worry rise to his cheeks. “ _Blimey!_ I forgot about the other passengers!”

“Here!” Connor called out. “You’ll probably need this.”

He sent a bottle of red liquid sailing through the air in Grant’s direction with an underhanded toss. Grant caught the bottle and immediately recognized it as a health potion.

 

As Grant and Lucy attended to the other passengers, and Connor collected the heads of the now-defunct Smiling Bandit gang, they were unaware that they were being watched. Tom, Dick, and Harry peered over the edge of a fallen tree that not only kept them well concealed, but just so happened to be downwind from the crash site, which was rather fortunate for them considering how keen Beast’s sense of smell was, and how badly they reeked of sweat, dirt, and fear.

Well, at least Dick and Harry had the good sense to be afraid. Tom on the other hand…

“ _C’mon!_ What are we waiting for Dick?” Tom said, straining to keep his voice down despite his excitement. “We can take ‘em, I know we can!”

Dick poked Tom in the eye with his thumb.

“ _Shut up!_ ” Dick hissed under his breath, “Whaddya tryin’ to do? Get us all killed?”

The sour expression on Dick’s face twisted into a grimace. He winced quietly to himself and carefully shifted his legs around into a position that was more-or-less comfortable. Though no longer flat on his back, Dick still hadn’t fully recovered from his fall down the tree.

“Yeah, Tom,” Harry quietly chimed in, “Are ya tryin’ to get us killed?”

Dick grabbed Harry’s nostrils between his thumb and fingers and gave them an upward yank.

“ _Ow ow ow_!” Harry yelped quietly, “What was that for?”

“ _Nyuk nyuk nyuk_ ,” Tom sniggered quietly to himself as he lovingly stroked the head of his rusty mace. “I’m serious, Dick. I can take ‘em! _Just lookit ‘em all!_ They ain’t in no shape to fight. Specially not that lout wit’ that wound on his shoulder!”

Dick looked at him with a look of astonishment. “I always knew you were a knucklehead and a numbskull … but I never realized you were a complete _nincompoop_ too!”

Tom might not have been able to see it during the fight, but Dick recognized that Grinner never stood a chance against Connor. He knew just how strong, agile, and ferocious Grinner could be in a fight. The knowledge alone was enough to make him shake in his boots. Yet none of his attacks could penetrate Connor’s defense, not even when he gave into his berserker rage and attacked with all of his strength. In the end, the situation had become so desperate for Grinner that he resorted to threatening the lives of the hostages. When that didn’t work, Grinner then attacked the dog in the hopes that Connor would deliberately put himself in harm’s way to save the mangy mutt. The gambit had worked, but even then all Grinner managed to do was inflict a flesh wound that looked nastier than it really was, and the dog still got in the way.

 _He should have finished him off right then and there._ Dick thought, cursing Grinner for his blunder. _Instead, the bloody fool saw a chance to finish the Muppet off and let his guard down._

“Dick, I don’t like this,” Harry said nervously, “Maybe we should scram.”

“You don’t like anything, Harry.” Tom countered.

“That’s not true,” Harry argued.

“You kiddin'? You didn’t like getting up this morning, you didn’t like what we had for lunch, and you didn’t like jumping on the coach. I’ll even bet that you didn’t like it when that ugly mother o’ yours birthed you!”

“Hey! First of all, don’t talk about my mother like that ( _may her soul rest in peace_ ); second,  I’m not a morning person; third, you know as well as I do that lunch was absolutely horrid; and finally, you wouldn’t like it either if you were left dangling from the back of a coach like a bloody sausage! Besides, do you really think that you can take on a guy like that? The rest of the gang couldn’t take him. _Hell!_ Not even Grinner could take him!”

“ _Oh, I get it_ ,” Tom said as a knowing smile stretched across his sagging jowls, “You want a piece of ‘im too.”

“What the?” Harry said, his nervous eyes wide. “No!”

“It’s okay … your secret’s safe wit’ me, pal. I know yer just itchin’ to avenge the boss. It’s like the bandit code says: ‘Nobody kills a bandit and lives to tell the tale’.”

“ _Shut it! Both o’ you!_ ” Dick hissed at them.

On the one hand, Tom was right. Dick had never liked Grinner, but the man was a bandit, and the bandit’s code dictated that the life of anyone that killed a bandit was automatically forfeit. On the other hand, Harry had a point. Nervous nitwit that he was, Dick couldn’t deny that Harry had good instincts when it came to knowing when it was time to scram. Even with their quarry weakened and weary from the fight with Grinner and the rest of the Smiling Bandits, and even with the element of surprise in their favor, the three of them together were no match for the man that single-handedly killed seven members of one of Albion’s most notorious bandit gangs in a row without so much as breaking a sweat. Besides, though the Muppet may not have been as strong as the boss, he was still a highly-trained swordsman, and his girlfriend was a crackshot armed with one of the most powerful pistols he had ever seen.

Dick’s hand went to the side of his head. He felt the sticky ruins of what had once been his left ear and came to a decision. “No, Harry’s right.” he said with finality, “If we go down there, we’re walking right into our own graves.”

Harry sighed with relief, but Tom’s jowls began to jiggle with a mixture of frustration and anger. “But _Dick_ …” Tom started to plead. Dick cut him off with a warning glare. Tom’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “Don’t worry. One day we’ll get our revenge fellas.” Dick assured them. “But now’s not the time.”

A tight, wolfish smile spread across Dick’s face as he imagined the satisfaction he would feel when he, Tom, and Harry finally caught up to Connor, Grant, and Lucy and exacted their revenge. _Oh, the things he would do to her…_

“C’mon numbskulls … let’s scram.”


	4. Bowerstone

The day was turning into early evening by the time Grant and his party spotted the city in the distance. _At last,_ he thought as the great round towers flanking the gate came into view. _Bowerstone._

Bowerstone’s western gate, commonly known as the market gate, was wide enough for eight men to stand abreast, making it more than large enough to accommodate the scores of wagons, carriages, and wayfarers that passed through each day.

“Home sweet home,” Lucy said with a hint of relief.

Beast barked in agreement.

“And we have _you_ to thank for that,” she said, scratching the dog behind the ear. Beast lolled his tongue and wagged his tail in delight.

“ _Traitor_ ,” Connor muttered.

He glared at the shaggy Alsatian. Beast ignored him completely and groaned with pleasure at the gentle caress of Lucy’s fingertips. Lucy chuckled at the dog’s insolence.

“Sorry Connor, but I think he’s in love with me.”

Connor snorted with contempt; but despite himself, the corner of his mouth curled upwards into a slight smirk. The burly adventurer was soon chuckling quietly to himself as his canine companion relished the attention from Lucy. He stole a lingering sideways glance at the young woman as he shifted the bundle over his shoulder into a more comfortable position.

_He’s not the only one_ , Grant thought as he eyed Connor warily.

Privately, he was relieved that the journey was nearing its end. It had been long and tedious, taking the rest of the day to make the arduous climb on foot towards Albion’s largest city. Despite the fact that the journey had gone by without incident thanks to their escorts, Grant had come to dislike their presence.

Beast had taken an instant fancy to Lucy and guarded her jealously. The ill-tempered dog would snap his jaws, bare his fangs, and snarl at him whenever he came close to her. Lucy chided the dog several times, but it made no difference. Beast was relentless, and his master did little to curb his canine companion’s behavior, swearing the dog wouldn’t harm him so long as he did nothing to provoke him.

Grant was less than reassured.

Worse, he didn’t like the gleam in Connor’s eyes when he looked at Lucy. It made him feel … _uneasy_. Even the ongoing debate between Connor and Lucy over ranged weapons did little to assuage his growing dislike for the adventurer.

“But why would you choose to carry a _crossbow_?” Lucy asked incredulously, “Blunderbusses are far more powerful, rifles have greater range, and pistols are faster to reload.”

“Firearms make too much noise,” Connor objected matter-of-factly, “Especially when you’re out in the woods. Pull that trigger and everyone will know you’re there and scarper off before you have a chance to reload. The flash and smoke from the barrel give away your position too. That’s the last thing you need when you’re hunting. Especially if you’re after prey of the _two-legged sort_.”

To make his point, Connor drew his crossbow, aimed it at some imaginary target in the distance, and squeezed the trigger. The only sound the weapon made was a muffled _thrum_ from the string snapping free of the latch. The crossbow wasn’t loaded of course, but that didn’t diminish the effectiveness of the demonstration.

“Crossbows are _much_ quieter. There’s no flash. No puff of smoke. Nothing that could give away your position. _And_ they’re just as deadly as any firearm once you’re within range.”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Lucy conceded reluctantly, “But they’re still too big, bulky, and cumbersome for my taste.”

“Are rifles or blunderbusses any better?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes, “The crossbow’s limbs are as wide as the stock is long, and it’s easy to get them snagged on loose clothing, bushes, shrubs, and low-hanging branches when you’re moving through the woods.”

“Only if you’re an _amateur_ ,” he shot back.

They debated every facet of ranged weapons including size, weight, range, accuracy, and everything between. They even argued over ammunition: types, staggering power, penetration, carry capacity, even the differences in size and weight. The argument raged throughout the journey until Lucy finally demanded to examine Connor’s crossbow for herself. To her surprise, Connor readily agreed. She took the crossbow from him and examined it with a tenderness that reminded Grant of a mother with a newborn babe. Lucy was a sucker for ranged weapons, and Grant had caught her stealing glances at the weapon several times. Thinking back, Grant was surprised it had taken her so long to ask. Especially considering how badly she had been itching to get her hands on it.

Constructed with high-quality steel and oak, Connor’s repeating crossbow was surprisingly strong, lightweight, and well-balanced for a weapon of its size. The stock and handle fit comfortably in Lucy’s hands, but it was the firing mechanism that impressed her the most. The crossbow could hold five quarrels inside a hidden magazine, and with a single pull of the trigger, it would launch a quarrel, pull the string back, and load the next quarrel so that it was ready to fire again almost immediately. It was a remarkably sophisticated feat of design and engineering. Even Grant, who didn’t care much for ranged weapons, was suitably impressed.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, handing the weapon back reluctantly.

“Years ago,” Connor began, “A blacksmith named Mason hired me to rescue his son, Earl, from some slavers that had taken him captive along with half of their village. Beast and I tracked them to the Bandit Coast, killed the slavers, and freed his son and the villagers. Mason didn’t have enough gold to pay me, so he fixed my weapons and equipment for no charge. As it turned out, his son was a gifted weaponsmith. I had a light oak crossbow at the time, but it had been damaged during the fight with the slavers. Earl came to me and said that he had an idea that he wanted to try out, and so he rebuilt it into this repeating crossbow. It was his way of thanking me for rescuing him and his friends.”

Connor gave the weapon an approving look before replacing it on his hip. “It was well worth it. This crossbow has saved my life more times than I can remember. It’s been my best friend for the better part of seven years now.”

Beast gave him a low growl.

“All right! _Second_ best friend,” Connor growled back, “You _mangy mutt_.”

The wind whispered through the air and brushed Lucy’s bronze hair across her face. Grant gazed forlornly at her as she tucked the loose strands behind her ear. Reaching surreptitiously into his coat pocket, he fingered the tiny ring box concealed within.

_Soon_ , he promised himself. _Very soon. Once we have a chance to be alone…_

“ _Earth to Grant!_ ”

Grant’s heart jumped into his throat as the sound of Lucy’s voice cut through his private thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” he gulped, “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘ _Do you think they’re okay_?’”

Grant furrowed his brow. “Who?”

Connor rolled his eyes.

“ _Linus, Sabrina, and David_. Do you think they’re okay?” Lucy sighed impatiently.

A flush of guilt crept up the young nobleman’s neck.

“ _Oh_ ,” was all Grant said as he awkwardly tugged at his collar. Thinking back to their late traveling companions―the older merchant, his wife, and the younger merchant―he wondered what had become of them. When he had last seen them, Linus was lying beside his brother in the back of a wagon with his wife Sabrina hovering over him as it rolled away towards Bowerstone.

The wound Grinner’s henchmen had inflicted upon the older merchant was horrendous. A long jagged laceration that ran from shoulder to navel. Despite his age and the injuries sustained in the crash, Linus did not hesitate to throw himself between the bandits and his wife during the ambush. The struggle was short and brutal, ending with a pommel-blow to the gut and a single sword stroke. Sabrina witnessed the blow that felled her husband and feared the worst when she saw him collapse face down onto the ground.

Grant had also assumed Linus was dead, but as he went down to one knee to examine Linus’s body the older merchant’s eyes shot open and he suddenly grabbed Grant’s throat. Still reeling from the fight with Grinner and his bandits, Grant didn’t have the strength to pry free from Linus’s iron grip. But when he saw Sabrina’s smiling tear-streaked face hovering over him, Linus came to his senses and let go of the younger man’s throat. Lucy and Sabrina helped Linus to sit up against the side of the carriage and gave him some of Connor’s healing potion. Within moments, the bleeding stopped, and Linus’s breathing returned to normal. They then focused on cleaning, dressing, and binding his wounds.

“I hope so,” Grant said wistfully.

“They had better be,” Connor muttered coldly, “Considering what it cost me.”

“ _Connor_ …” Grant began.

“ _ENOUGH!_ ” Lucy snapped, cutting Grant and Connor off before they could say another word. The sudden flash of anger caught them by surprise. Even Beast gave her a wide berth.

“ _Connor, we’ve been over this_ ,” Lucy said, drilling him with a hard-eyed look, “There was _no way_ we were going to leave them behind. The carriage was destroyed, the driver was dead, the horses were gone, and David and Linus were hurt. How was Sabrina supposed to get her husband and brother-in-law to Bowerstone _all by herself?!”_

Connor opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again and said nothing. The hard look in Lucy’s eyes softened a little, but she didn’t relent. “I’m sorry that it took all of the gold and weapons you looted, but it was the only way to convince that farmer to take them back with him to Bowerstone.”

Thinking back on it, Grant still couldn’t believe their luck. What were the odds that a farmer would be driving a wagon through the woods just when they needed him most? Connor had dismissed it as a mere convenience of coincidence, but Grant was convinced both then and now that it was divine intervention from the Lords of Light. It was the answer to Grant’s silent prayers that they would find a way to save Linus’s and David’s lives.

Even so, they soon discovered that even divine intervention comes with a price.

Although the farmer had been sympathetic enough to their plight he flatly refused to help them, arguing that he didn’t have enough room for passengers and that his precious cargo of fruits, vegetables, and fodder would either be spoiled or have to be discarded, which meant that he would lose a great deal of money.

It was only through a combination of Sabrina’s pleading, a few honeyed words from Lucy, a sum of gold from Grant, and all of Connor’s loot as compensation that the farmer finally agreed to take Linus, Sabrina, and David in his wagon. The farmer also agreed to deliver a pair of messages from Grant to his brother Donald, and Lucy to her brother Kevin. The notes not only informed them of everything that had happened but also gave them instructions to see to it that their travel companions received every possible care and attention.

Unsurprisingly, Connor had not been pleased with the arrangement. He only consented after Grant swore to reimburse him for the value of the loot in addition to the fee he had already been promised for escorting him and Lucy back to Bowerstone. Despite Grant’s assurances, Connor was still salty about having to hand over his prized loot over to someone that he didn’t believe could be trusted, all to save three strangers that he believed should have been left behind to fend for themselves.

“Besides, Grant has already promised he would repay every penny you lost. Remember what Grant said to Grinner? _‘When a Fairfax gives his word, he keeps it no matter what’_. And when Grant makes a promise, he keeps it,” She turned and looked at Grant significantly, “No matter what.”

The wink she gave him made Grant grin lopsidedly.

“If you say so,” Connor resigned.

The grin on Grant’s face abruptly vanished when he gazed up at the long row of spikes crowning the parapets above the gate. Some were adorned with the heads and hands of criminals, dissidents, and traitors. Thick clouds of flies swarmed over the impaled heads and hands, most of which were green and well-rotted. Grant curled his lip in disgust at the sight and felt his stomach twist as the rank stench of decaying flesh assaulted his nostrils. He could understand the rationale behind the practice of mounting heads and hands above the gates. It was meant to serve as a warning to bandits, outlaws, and the citizens inside the city of the fate that awaited them if they defied the law, but Grant still hated it.

A pair of tall, wide-shouldered, muscular sentries stood guard at the gate clad in the red and blue uniforms of the Albion guard. Each carried a longsword, a flintlock pistol, and a badge upon their half-cloaks that was emblazoned with the municipal seal: a golden crenulated tower balanced by the scales of justice with a golden crown ascendant upon a blue field. The guards eyed them warily as they neared the gate, but made no attempt to stop them, ushering them through with a nod and a wave of the hand.

The group emerged onto a cobblestoned square that opened onto Bower Bridge, which spanned the River Bower into the heart of the Bowerstone marketplace. A small guardhouse, open-air general store, and an assortment of merchant stalls graced the square’s right side. A small barracks and the coach-house with its adjoining stables graced its left side. Two guards emerged from the guardhouse. The first was balding with a salt and pepper beard and soft brown eyes. The second was shorter and had a thick mustache and hazel eyes.

“ _Oi! Lucy!_ ” Called out one of the guards, “It’s about time you finally showed up!”

“ _Ben! Jerry!_ ” Lucy shouted back as she broke off from the group and headed towards them, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see you miserable blokes in all of my life.”

The stern expressions on their faces gave way to crooked smiles, and the wary look in their eyes sparkled with twinkles of mirth. Lucy was a familiar sight to most of the guards. Her brother, Kevin, was a sergeant in the Albion Guard and was regarded as one of the finest law enforcement officers in the city. Over the years, Kevin had made it a point to introduce his sister to his fellow officers and guards. Consequently, they had all grown quite fond of her and treated her like a kid sister.

Their conversation was short. Ben and Jerry informed Lucy that Kevin had been here earlier this morning waiting for her to return, but when the farmer arrived with her note he personally saw to it that Linus, Sabrina, and David received the care they needed.

“So where is he?” Sabrina asked.

“On patrol in Old Town,” Jerry answered.

“Duty calls?” Lucy asked with a crestfallen look.

“Yeah,” Ben confirmed sympathetically, “Duty calls.”

“We were already on the roster for gate duty today,” Jerry said, ignoring the uncomfortable silence that hung in the air, “So the sergeant asked us to keep an eye out for you.”

“Has there been any word on Linus or David’s condition?” Grant asked the guards.

“Sorry, but there’s been no word,” Ben answered.

“Then again,” Jerry interjected, “We’ve been stuck at the gate all day. No doubt the sergeant will know more when he gets here.”

“How long will he be?”

“Not long,” Jerry assured him, “We sent one of the guards to find him and let him know that you were here as soon as we saw you coming down the road.”

“It would be best if you waited here until then,” Ben suggested.

Grant gave them his thanks and took a seat on one of the benches next to the coach-house. Bowerstone was a large city, so it could take well over an hour before word of their arrival reached Kevin down in Old Town, and another hour for him to make his way back to the gate. With so much time on his hands, Grant toyed with the idea of finishing “ _A Perilous Adventure, Bronze Edition_ ”, but something else caught his attention.

Lionhead Castle could be seen in the distance looming over the city like a crown on Bower Hill, but it was the square’s centerpiece that caught Grant’s eye: a sculpture of an armored knight wielding a lance in one hand, pointing his sword in the other hand towards some distant foe, ready to charge into battle upon a pig that was twice his size. Grant leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees and furrowed his brow at the statue. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Lucy taking the seat next to him.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asked.

Grant blinked. “ _Huh?_ What did you say?”

Lucy gave him a knowing look.

“Oh c’mon, Grant,” she chided, “Your face is more scrunched up than a mastiff’s. Either you’re trying to pass a stone, or you’re contemplating the answer to another of life’s great mysteries.”

“You know me too well,” Grant sighed theatrically.

“More than you know,” she teased, “So? Have you solved the mystery?”

Grant cupped his chin in his right hand, cocked his head to the side, and regarded the sculpture with narrowed eyes.

“Not yet,” he admitted. It was a vexing question, especially in light of the many, _many_ hours he had spent researching at the city’s library. Despite his best efforts, he never found the answer to the mystery of the statue. Then again, neither had anyone else.

“What’re you going on about?” Connor asked, setting the bundle over his shoulder onto the ground next to the bench.

“The statue,” Grant replied, “I’m trying to figure out the mystery behind it. It’s an utterly vexing and fascinating enigma.”

“The _statue_?!” Connor said with an edge of skepticism, “Pull the other one.”

“No, _seriously_ ,” Grant said, “Haven’t you ever wondered about it?”

Connor narrowed his eyes, “It’s a bloody statue of a knight riding a pig. What’s there to wonder about?”

“For starters,” Grant began, “Who made the statue? How did they make it? Did they make it here? Or did they have it moved? If so, how did they move it? And why did they move it here? For that matter, why would anyone go to the trouble of making a statue of a knight riding a pig? Did someone order it? If so, who ordered it? And why? Is it a commentary, perhaps, upon the foolishness of knight-errantry and chivalry in these modern times? Or is there a deeper meaning behind it? No one seems to know the answer to any of these questions, nor what the story is behind the statue in the first place. It’s like an old puzzle box that no one’s been able to crack, and that’s what makes it so fascinating.”

“Or else it’s just some sculptor’s drunken idea of a joke,” Connor retorted.

Grant was appalled by the suggestion, but Lucy was smiling and trying very hard to suppress her chuckling. Grant looked at her, then Connor, then back again at the statue. Whatever the answer, he had to admit that the sight of an armored knight riding a pig was ludicrous.

“Grinner was right, you really are a bloody _Muppet_.”

And with those words, the burly adventurer picked up his bundle, slung it over his shoulder, and turned to leave, “But at least you know which end of a sword to hold.”

“Wait a minute,” Lucy called out, “Where are you going?”

“To collect the bounty,” he said, indicating the sack slung over his shoulder, “The Sheriff doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Besides, they’re starting to stink. If I wait any longer they’ll rot into bloody ruins, and I want to collect my pay before that happens. So if you’ll excuse me…”

“Just a moment,” Grant said, quickly getting to his feet. He stretched his hand out and offered it to Connor, “Before you go, I just wanted to thank you once again for everything you did on our behalf: saving us from the bandits, escorting us home, your help with Linus, Sabrina, and David, we can’t thank you enough for it. We owe you a great debt.”

“A debt which you’ll be paying?” Connor pointedly asked.

“Of course,” Grant said with his hand still outstretched, “Once you’ve collected the bounty, come and find me in Uptown for the rest of your payment.”

Connor eyed the young nobleman for a long moment, “Just make sure you’re at the gate with my gold ready.”

“I will,” Grant assured him, “Five hundred gold plus the value of the gold and weapons looted from the bandits. You have my word.”

“Until next time, _Muppet_ ,” Connor said as he clasped the offered hand, gave it a firm shake, and nodded in agreement. Beast’s ears pricked up as his master let out a shrill whistle.

“ _Beast!_ ” he commanded, “ _Come!_ ”

The dog rose to his feet, looked at his master, then back again at Lucy, reluctant to leave her side after spending so much time with her.

“It’s all right, go on,” she encouraged.

Beast gave her hand one last affectionate lick before padding to Connor’s side. When the dog looked up at his master and groaned balefully at him, Lucy couldn’t help but giggle to herself. Connor ruffled the dog’s head, turned on his heel, and marched towards the bridge and into the city with his prized sack of bandit heads and hands slung over his shoulder. Connor stole one last glance at Lucy out of the corner of his eye, then disappeared into the crowd.

 

_Finally_ , Grant thought as Connor and Beast disappeared from sight. Lucy sauntered to his side, hooked her arm with his, and rested her head against his shoulder. Grant placed a hand upon hers and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“Thank you, Grant.”

“What for?”

“For everything: The carnival, the presents, standing up to the bandits, helping me with Linus and David,” she tightened her grip around Grant’s arm, “But especially for Beast and Connor.”

“Lucy, I…” Grant’s words were cut off by a loud growl in the pit of his stomach. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks as they turned a deep shade of red. Luckily, Lucy either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Come on,” she said, taking Grant by the hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To get some nosh to eat.”

“But, what about your brother?”

“What about him?”

“The guards said we should wait…”

“Don’t sweat it,” she said dismissively, “We’re not going far, Kevin won’t have trouble finding us. Besides, the stalls are about to close and I’m starving!”

She quickly led them towards the food stalls on the bridge. They were just in the nick of time. With their food in hand, they settled into one of the pedestrian refuges on the bridge’s eastern end that overlooked the river’s southern course to enjoy their meal. Over the next hour, they savored grilled dubious whitefish fillets, a trencher of black bread, some howling cheese, and a bottle of Bowerstone brown beer to wash it all down.

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time they were finished. The breeze grew chilly as the sun’s warmth faded. The vendors promptly closed their stalls for the night. The few remaining shoppers quickly scattered, no doubt eagerly anticipating the warm hearth fires that awaited them in their homes or the local tavern. The wind rippled across the surface of the river Bower, carrying the smells of the city with it.

Lucy turned to face the incoming wind and inhaled deeply, “Smells wonderful doesn’t it?”

Grant sniffed at the air and immediately began to cough violently as his nostrils were assaulted by the _distinct_ aroma coming from the river. It was a rank smell that was equal parts sweet, rotten, and sour, and it took all of Grant’s will not to double over and retch his supper up right then and there.

“Smells like wet rat that’s been swimming in rotten eggs, dead fish, and week-old miasmic cheese,” Grant spat out between coughs.

“More like ‘ _political commentary_ ’ if you ask me,” Lucy remarked sarcastically as she leaned forward and breathed in the noxious air. Grant coughed in agreement. “Political Commentary” was a popular phrase coined by Bowerstone’s lower classes. It was a euphemism for the buckets of slop that the servants of the toffs of Bower Heights tossed onto the streets at night.

“Home _sweet_ home,” she said with a rueful smile.

Grant snickered quietly to himself.

Glancing at his surroundings, he saw that the horizon was ablaze with the last light of the fading sun, and the brightest stars were now visible in the coming night sky. The bridge was strangely quiet and peaceful with no crowds or merchants hawking their wares. It was only then that he realized that he and Lucy were all alone.

Lucy was smiling widely with her eyes closed, savoring the gentle caress of the wind as it brushed her face and mussed her hair. It was one of the loveliest sights Grant had ever seen. Standing on the bridge breathing in the river’s noxious odor would never have been his first choice for a marriage proposal setting, but the moment just felt so right.

“Lucy?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes?”

He took her hands into his and looked deep into her eyes.

“There’s something that I…” Grant said, reaching into his coat pocket. Just as he clasped his fingers around the ring box, he felt something cold and metallic press into the small of his back.

“ _No sudden moves,_ ” A deep, rumbling voice commanded.

“ _What in the?!_ ” was all that escaped his lips before he heard the metallic _click_ of a hammer being cocked. Grant immediately froze.

_No! No!! NO!!!_ Grant thought furiously as he recognized the voice. _NOT NOW!!!_ “Kevin?”

“Hands up where I can see them,” barked Kevin.

Grant did as instructed.

“What did I tell you about putting your hands on my sister?” He asked softly with a hint of menace.

Grant was glad that Kevin couldn’t see the irritated expression on his face. “That if I ever laid a hand on her you would shoot me?”

“Oh for the love of … _KEVIN!_ ” Lucy snapped, “ _Put the gun DOWN!_ ”

Lucy indignantly swept around Grant, drew her pistol, and aimed it at her brother’s face.

“That’s a nice piece you’ve got there,” Kevin said, giving the weapon an approving look before meeting his sister’s fiery eyes.

“Want to see what it can do?” Lucy asked mock-sweetly as she clicked off the safety and cocked the hammer. Kevin didn’t flinch.

The tension in the air grew thick as the two siblings stood off against each other, one holding a gun to his sister’s boyfriend, and the other pointing a gun at her brother’s face. A long and agonizing moment passed. Then quite suddenly, Kevin clicked the safety on, withdrew the weapon from Grant’s back, and holstered it over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

“I wish you would stop doing that,” Grant said, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“The day I stop is the day when you prove to me that you’re ready to protect my little sister,” rumbled Kevin.

“He doesn’t need to protect me, Kevin; not as long as I’m around to protect _him_ ,” Lucy said, teasing Grant with a sly smile and a wink. Kevin snorted derisively at Grant.

Turning to his sister, Kevin compressed his lips into what passed for a smile on his grim face, then suddenly lifted her off her feet and pulled her into a powerful bear hug. Lucy was breathless with laughter as her brother spun her around.

Kevin was more rugged-looking than his sister with his square jaw, dimpled chin, and sharp cheekbones. His nose was similar to Lucy’s but it had been broken more than once. He also had the same bronze-colored hair and green eyes, but where Lucy’s eyes were sharp, lively, and lustrous, Kevin’s eyes were cold, steely, and unflinching. Most guards sported burly beards, ragged hair, and carried the traditional longsword and flintlock pistol. In contrast, Kevin kept his hair closely cropped, his face clean-shaven, and he carried a heavy iron mace and a blunderbuss.

Grant once asked him why he carried such heavy weapons. As he recalled, Kevin had asserted that the mace was a more practical and effective weapon for law enforcement. “ _Swords are too messy,_ ” he explained, “ _And they require extensive training and skill to wield effectively. The mace, on the other hand, requires little in the way of training or skill, so it can be used by anyone. In the right hands, a mace is just as effective as any sword when it comes to assault or defense. They can be used to storm buildings, smash windows, and break down locked doors or other barriers with ease, which makes them ideal weapons during riots or sieges. Also, they don’t break the skin; they just break the bones beneath. Bandits, outlaws, and other such lawbreakers can’t run away or resist arrest if their arms and legs are broken. Besides, there’s nothing more satisfying than the CRUNCH of a bandit’s bones breaking._ ”

As much as he extolled the virtues of his heavy iron mace, Kevin’s true pride and joy was his unique blunderbuss. Though it was austere in appearance and possessed little in the way of adornment, Kevin had designed and built the firearm himself. It was twice the size and caliber of ordinary steel blunderbusses, making it one of the largest, heaviest, and most powerful guns Grant had ever seen. Kevin didn’t admire heroes as his sister or Grant did, but he had taken to the idea of naming his weapons, christening his custom-built blunderbuss: “ _Upholder_ ”. It was a fitting name for the weapon, especially in the hands of an officer as dedicated to law, order, and duty as him.

Grant cleared his throat loudly, “I hate to interrupt this joyous reunion, but has there been any word about Linus or David? The guards at the gate said that you might know more.”

Kevin’s grim smile vanished, “You mean the merchants that showed up at the gate this morning?”

Grant nodded in agreement, “How are they?”

“Are they all right?” Lucy asked with some trepidation.

“For the moment,” Kevin confirmed, “Linus is recovering at the hospital.”

“What about Sabrina?” Lucy’s eyebrows went up, “How is she?”

“Getting some much-needed rest at the hospital, or so I hope. The poor woman’s been beside herself worrying about her husband. She refused to leave his side, even when the surgeon forbade her from going into the operating room with him. We had no choice but to restrain her. She resisted of course, but by then she was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. Still, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a wife so devoted to her husband.”

“Can we see them?”

“I’m afraid not. Linus’s wounds reopened on the way to the hospital. The surgeon was able to stop the bleeding and close up the wound, but he’s concerned that too much excitement could cause it to open again. For the time being, only immediate family members are allowed to visit. Linus is going to need some time to recover from his wounds.”

“How much time?”

“Hard to say. The surgeon’s done everything he can, but it could take a week, a fortnight, or even a month; but the important thing is that he will live. He’ll have a nasty scar to show for it, but he’ll live.”

“What about their expenses?” interjected Grant, “I sent instructions that Linus, Sabrina, and David would want for nothing medically or financially.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Kevin assured him, “Your brother has already taken care of it. I believe his exact words were, _‘When a Fairfax gives his word, he keeps it no matter what.’_ ”

“I can’t tell you how much of a relief that is to hear.”

“ _Wait a minute,_ ” Lucy said, suddenly narrowing her eyes at her brother, “You haven’t said anything about David. Is he all right?”

Kevin met her eyes and frowned, “He died on the way here.”

A long moment passed before Grant found his voice, “How did he die?”

“He bled to death on the way here.”

“How can that be?” Lucy asked in disbelief, “He didn’t have any wounds on his body.”

“David died from _internal_ bleeding. The surgeon examined his body and determined that the bouncing of the wagon aggravated his injuries from the crash and caused the bleeding. He was already dead by the time they reached Bowerstone.”

“No,” groaned Grant.

He stared at the ground, mouthing a silent prayer to the Lords of Light for them to guide David’s spirit to the realms above, and for them to bless and strengthen his brother and sister-in-law in their own trials. Hearing the approach of footsteps, Grant looked up to see Lucy fighting back the tears in her eyes.

“We did everything we could,” Lucy said, taking his hand in hers. Grant could only nod in agreement.

“We sent word to the gravekeeper shortly thereafter,” Kevin said coolly, “He’s taken the body back to the cemetery with him to prepare it for burial.”

“So soon?” Grant asked incredulously.

“There was no other choice. By the time we got him to the hospital, David’s body had already started to rot. The gravekeeper was adamant about needing to take care of it right away before it could decay any further.”

Grant understood the logic, but he still didn’t like it. Everything was coming at him all at once, and what he wanted most was a moment to catch his breath. Unfortunately, Grant soon learned that he wouldn’t be getting his wish.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Kevin said, gesturing for Grant and Lucy to follow.

“Wait … what the?” Grant sputtered, “Where are we going?”

“Your brother wants to speak to you.”

“I see,” Grant said, shuffling his feet uncomfortably, “I’ll see him after I’ve taken Lucy home.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kevin said firmly, “He’s waiting for you in the market square.”

“The square?”

“ _Mmm-hmm_ ,” hummed Kevin.

“At this late hour?”

“I’ll take you to him. After that, I’m taking Lucy home.”

Lucy fixed her brother with a hard look, “I don’t need you to walk me…”

“Yes you do,” Kevin cut her off sharply, “You know the streets of Old Town are too dangerous for a young woman to walk alone. Especially when it’s dark out. I won’t accept ‘no’ for an answer, Lucy. Not this time!”

The argument that ensued was short and brutal, but ultimately Lucy agreed to let her brother escort her home. They headed west across the bridge, passed the stairs that led to the wharf below, and entered the town square. If Lionhead Castle was the crown that sat upon its head, then the market was Bowerstone’s beating heart. One of Albion’s greatest centers for trade and commerce, the Bowerstone market was home to alchemists, apothecaries, barbers, blacksmiths, cooks, gem-cutters, jewelers, tailors, weaponsmiths, and all manner of merchants and traders both scrupulous and unscrupulous.

The marketplace was framed by two- and three-story half-timber-framed buildings with brown bricks and sharply-peaked slate tiled roofs. Three roads branched outwards from the marketplace: the Sovereign Road, which led east towards the city’s most opulent neighborhoods; the Old Town Road, which turned north towards Bowerstone’s oldest and poorest district; and the Moonfish Road, which wound south towards the wharves and docks.

At the market’s center was a massive scaffold that towered over the nearby buildings. Canvas tarps covered the scaffolding and kept whatever was being constructed inside hidden from view. Guards had been stationed day and night around the site to deter curious onlookers and vandals, but Grant noticed they were gone. Instead, the construction site was surrounded by men clad in all-black uniforms and purple half cloaks. Grant stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the spiraling black dragon and golden crown badges pinned to their uniforms.

_The Count’s bodyguards? What are they doing here?_

Another bodyguard emerged from behind one of the tarps at the scaffold’s base. He was clad in an ornate black-enameled cuirass, gauntlets, and greaves. His face was concealed beneath an executioner-style mask that only made his cold eyes more frightening to behold. The guard positioned himself off to the side and held the flap open. More guards emerged and took up flanking positions to either side of the opening.

Donald was the first to emerge from the scaffolding, followed by another man that was covered in black from head to foot, save for a regal purple-colored sash draped across his left shoulder. A great spiraling black dragon & golden crown sigil was emblazoned upon the sash.

Grant sucked in his breath and felt a cold chill in the air as the man stood before him with his hands resting upon the carved ivory dragon’s head on his gold-banded black cane.

_Blimey! It’s the Count!_

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to take a moment to say, "Thank You", for your time and consideration. Please feel free to leave a comment, or leave a kudos if you're enjoying the story thus far. Reviews are also welcome whether good or bad. I want to make this story the best that I can, so I value all comments and criticisms.
> 
> ~Mhex ASC


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